by Sally Cragin the things they carried Aquanet hand-maidensalways in pairs,fishnets, Doc MartensMascara’d black staressmoking in tandem,sauntering downstairs Boys give them a glancebut they’re slightly shit-faced(a bottle of Jack in that purse –next to Mace) Oh, those purses – so stylishfrom skinned vinyl leopardsor dragon-skin sacks stitchedout of Auntie’s old…
by Bailey Sweatman Lex Barrett was doing a hundred and forty-five down a highway that looked more like a farm road, thinking about the estate lawyer and her dead dad. He was recently dead – her dad, not the lawyer – and she was avoiding the appointment to hear his…
by Cat Hannon My last memory of you –The nurse ripping the pain patch from behind your ear.Pain crossed your face – the crinkle and frown, burnt into my memory.I felt your pain as you faded from this world.Within the hour, you and Grandma would be reunited…Finally, and forever. You…
by Elisa Stancil (This story contains sexual assault.) One summer when I was still a small girl, my father—thin as a crane back then—crouched beside me on a big, flat rock, his arms and knees akimbo. His hand was steady on my shoulder as we watched the American River surge…
by D.R. James Look, I want to love this world as though it’s the last chance I’m ever going to get to be alive and know it. …
by Myra Bellin I have a distinct early memory of watching my mother as she diced onions for a dish she called minute steaks and onions, a greasy, delicious mess of meat better known as butter steak smothered in fried onions. After peeling the onions and slicing off each end,…
by Andi Garrison (This poem contains domestic abuse.) Maybe one dayyour bruises won’t burn my skin.Promises you left behindwon’t hurt time and time again. Maybe one dayvivid memories will fade.The only scars left herewill be the marks from my blade. Maybe one daymy reflection won’t break my heart.With every passing…
by Maggie Swofford We watchedthe flowersfold underthe summersun—105°windchill—we lookedout my bed-room window. I baked andcaked mymakeup on bythe windowsillonly to haveit drip off. The flowervase toreoff itsstandduring aviolentstorm,and wethrew ourlaundryat eachother asnights grewdim andhot. The nextday, everyday, we’dcross ourlegs andfoldthe wrinkledfabric backinto somethingwe couldwear.
by Brandy Christiansen Place commas on both sides of meso that I may be omittedI am just a minor detailand to me you need not be committed.Do I truly fit in your life story?Or would I just be out of place?Would you leave me out of your memoir?Or put me…
by Maria Wickens (This story contains suicide.) “It would be absurd if we did not understand both angels and devils, since we invented them.” ― John Steinbeck, East of Eden The weeds sprout fast around Finn’s gravestone. “We should put in a permanent planting to keep it tidier,” Dad muses….