by René Zadoorian This short story was originally published in Qafiyah Review. Forty nine and freshly single, Aram sat in his dimly lit living room with a plastic container resting on the coffee table. The container’s lid was covered in unevenly spaced holes, punctured with the tip of a knife,…
by Jason Grant Five kids happily sit togetherfor a photographwith hopes it could stay like this forever. And though I know better,and that nothing lasts—not even laughs,five kids happily sit together. I’ll talk about the weatheror whatever else, if someone asks,with hopes it could stay like this forever but no…
by Jennifer Predny “Janet! The SuperShuttle is going to be here any minute. We gotta go, or they’ll leave without us.” The words barely penetrate the fog that encompasses my brain. I know he said something. I know that the words have meaning. They mean something…something. I continue watching the…
by Anne Mikusinski Life is a pie chartShade it three quarters darkDue to waitingFor newsOr answersOr reasons whyBut keep that one fourth brightFor momentsKept in memory.
by Kimberly Nunes The question was water, how to bring more to our lives.It may all come down to the Western Snowy Plover.City seats and valley farms, ecologists, and native tribes—the thing is water, how to bring it to our lives.Ohlone Esselen Monterey coast, here, where this bird thrives,the size…
by Gil Hoy he was my father. I never knewhim very wellbecause he wasn’t aroundwhen I was born. You wouldn’t know He married my motherwhen she was just 16. That hetook my sister to the park Most Sunday morningsso my mothercould sleep in. You wouldn’t knowa lot about any of…
by Claude Chabot Lily had found the powder room in haste, and rapidly finishing her customary ablutions before the start of the feature, hurried to the stairs. This was her ritual before every picture she had seen, and though she could resist it, she felt fully at ease only when…
by Kimberly Kozubovska The railway ticket, now worn around the edges from handling, had been Leah’s only way to her destination. Sighing, she slid down to sit on a hard wooden bench outside the cloakroom and unpinned her hat. She ignored the impulse to feel the coins in her change…
by H.E. Shippas “Up next, Marshall Couper,” my teacher, Mrs. Smithson, announced. I gathered my papers and marched to the front of the classroom. Mrs. Smithson helped me pull up my project onto the holoscreen. The lights in the class turned off, my first slide illuminating the faces of my…
by James Maynard Once I found a dandelion seed headAs big as a melon. In the gopher-plump grassI thought it was a child’s lost ball.I loved how freely it came into our sphereWithout a wrapper, or preview, or price.Or the soggy afternoon we spent rushingHalf-drowned worms from the puddlesTo the…