by Fathiya Alalawi She wanted her husbandto forever be a lionand so, created mythsabout his might.He’s in his seventies,and she misses the dayswhen he was roaring.Now, he barelystretches and yawnsin front of the TV–his favorite den–and she roars at himout of frustration.She misses the dayswhen he was troublingthe whole town.Now,…
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 Isaiah Robinson Moonlight settled his features; its soft silvery light feigned the youth he once had. Resting on a straw-stuffed mattress, Faiben stretched out his hands before him. In the moonlight they bore no scars, no calluses, no crooked fingers. They were the hands of a simple man, a…
by Brian Reickert On an August afternoon, on the fringe of a riotous wildflower garden, I crouched to observe the mortal struggle of a tiny green spider and a yellow/black hornet on the chest of Saint Francis draped in plaster robes, arms outstretched as if to embrace the world in…
by Kerri Vasilakos Words turn diamonds in these volcanic bones. I wait for the eruption. My throat has been hollow for so long, that my blood began carving letters in my veins, bruising voice into my flesh. My body rebelled against my fear, took matters into its own hands, seduced…
by Kerri Vasilakos I felt the oceans rhythms and listened to the waves crash against the shore like a heartbeat, you didn’t know my body was part of the sand. I would hear your footsteps approaching and pray that you’d walk all over me. I was there for all your…
by Brian Reickert When I was thirty-one I learned the difference between casket dead and hospital dead. There was no composure, only a profusion of absence and that which accompanies it. My father’s eyes were wide and yellow, his face whiskered and sallow, lips cracked, swollen tongue, mouth agape. The…
by Daria Smith Giraud You See, this trauma is branded, #BlackLivesMatter— co-opted, a corporation with corporate donations. Ablack girl like me, will never spend or touch.You do, however see and feel its binding residue its Black Magic Matter surging the well of tears frommy mothers’ mothers’ mothers’ injustice. Blood-borne lipsof little white…
By Holli Harms “Cereal and Fire” placed first in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2020 Fall Fiction Contest. My sister wakes up in a room. She wakes and finds that when she tries to move she can’t. Her arms and legs are held down. Strapped down. She is strapped to a…
By Jennifer Taylor “Eggshells” placed second in Southern New Hampshire University’s 2020 Fall Fiction Contest. One day in the June of her eleventh year, I awoke to find the whole world blanketed in white. Eggshells …everywhere. I had been warned this is what would happen with a girl child. One…