By James Croal Jackson Perhaps divinity is in devotion– pages of textover thousands of years, eternal ramblingin the clockwork ticking the days to etch instone the wings I’d searched away, blindfaith in running water, erosion of the endlessnights I’d stay awake to eke out meaning.
by Nadja K. McGlinn The nurse in the cubicle where my husband and I got our second shots of the COVID-19 remarked that everyone she’d injected that day had the scar from a smallpox vaccination, meaning we were old—old enough to have still gotten them as children. She noted I…
by Jessica Hensley Students at Southern New Hampshire University were invited to submit essays in celebration of women’s contributions to society, with a focus on a particular woman who inspired the writer to share her story. This essay was chosen to be published in The Penmen Review on International Women’s…
by Mark Howard In 2017, I left being a successful financial business owner to become a fifty-seven-year-old, first-year high school English teacher. I made that change because I wanted to. Now, countless thousands are being faced with a career change because of the pandemic. In my little town, there are…
by Susan Spadafora My mother’s sister and family came to visit. Since my cousin Marie was only a year older than me, she was invited to stay a bit longer so we could play together. There was a family get-together planned for the next Sunday, with relatives from my father’s…
by Tara Conrad For International Women’s Day, we celebrated the daily impact women have on our lives. This essay honors a loving mother who kept her heart open for the world no matter the challenge. When I was young, we struggled financially, often not having money to pay the bills…
by Lisa Harris Her early life was a fairy tale, and a journey into the land of Moses and the Israelites, and a daily closer walk with all things Jesus. It was a history lesson on the Methodists and John Wesley, a renegade Anglican with some good ideas. She heard story after…
by Natalie King For two days straight, I watched yoga YouTubes and smoked a lot of pot. I burned a Krishna Das CD for fifty minutes of music. If you’ve never done yoga, and out of the blue you and your soft butt start doing bizarre contortions for five hours…
by Marc Mayer Okay, I admit it…I’m a hoarder. No, I don’t mean one of those nutjobs you see on the TV news being led out of their hopelessly cluttered—with boxes of shit from the 1950s—home along with their thirty-two cats and eighteen dogs. I’m just your average “I never…
by Isidra Mencos It was turquoise green with black side panels—a simple sheath in stretchy nylon that fit in a fist. When I tried it on I instantly knew it was mine. I stepped out from behind the folding screen and into the main room where my friend Marisa and…
by Vanessa Kristovich My grandmother was a great lady, the matriarch of my father’s family. She had bright eyes and salt-and pepper hair, and a beautiful, warm smile. She also had some strong opinions, and one of them was that a person shouldn’t buy junk. Grandmom used to visit at…