by Richard Bentley You haven’t heard of me yet, but my name was once linked to a poet named Edward Starling. Starling gave me a brave name, some stanzas, and a few similes. Starling and I were ambitious. He wanted to be a famous poet, and I wanted to be…
by Carol Lindsey “Girls, come on,” Mildred Smith called. “We’ll miss the bus.” Mildred looked over the two girls bounding down the stairs. “Very nice, Evelyn. Rhonda Sue, where are your gloves? A lady never leaves the house without being properly dressed.” Nine-year-old Rhonda Sue pulled a pair of white…
by Vivian Lawry The first person who wasn’t there for me was my overworked, overwhelmed mother. Initially, her body betrayed me. When I was eight or so, she tried—again and again—to give my father the son he so wanted. What she gave him, instead, was a weakened, broken wife. She…
by Mark Conkling Jeremy leaned forward on his handicapped walker. “Mother, that’s insane. There’s absolutely no reason to burn the house down.” Naomi crossed her arms. “Do what I say. Burn it down the day after my funeral.” “But why?” “I don’t ever want anyone else cooking in my kitchen,…
by Judy Richardson Emma pushed open the door to the university bookstore and paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to the artificial light. Shades on the far wall dimmed the sun. Inside quiet and calm blended with the ticking clock and buzzing lights. A clerk perched behind the counter, scribbling…
by Rich Ives In the village of Arriving there was a man who had the gift of sadness. He lived with a knobby woman with ponderous calves. At the tavern this man frequented, each of the women decorated their noses with bent fishhooks, and there were more women than there…
by Tunisia Squire Stormy nights have come and gone but this night seemed to last forever. It feels as if the storm is getting worse by the second. Rain falls down from the sky with lightning and the thunder combine. There is a house, a pleasant house with a white…
by Martha Phelan Hayes It’s the summer of 1989, and I am thirty-five years old. My son is twelve. He just finished his all-star baseball season. I worried (I am a young mother who’s yet to learn the futility of such angst) that he wouldn’t make this highly competitive team….
by Lynne Shaner After what seemed like ages of leisurely kissing, days lingering in the garden, and hours leafing through piles of papers on slow, sexy Sunday mornings, he left. Sure, we had argued some—sometimes loudly—but who hasn’t? I had even been wearing my hair down, mostly for him, nearly…
by Sarah May Wilson Eyes are staring at me from the rearview mirror. Almond shaped and haunted, coal black pupils with flat, sea green irises reflect back. The days have taken their toll on them as each hard year has passed. These eyes have seen too much, endured too much….