Posts Tagged Southern New Hampshire University

There is No Country Called America

by Mir Arif We were doomed at the station. There was no inter-city train bound for our destination.  Slowly, on the horizon, a cloud was gathering. We could not go back where we came from – it was miles away. The sun’s descent through a blanket of grey cloud was…

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My Sister Maddie

by William Thompson I wake sometimes, knowing my sister has been looking at me—about to say something, but she never does. The words of blame never come. That came from my father, but even he never spoke the words that have condemned me for almost three decades, not even in…

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Dance with Me

by Benny Diaz III Rudy Esparza didn’t like to dance. He couldn’t understand how people could do it, how they could coordinate their hands and their legs to do what the music told them to do. Even as a child, Rudy hated to dance. He used to make fun of…

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Y2K Meditations

by CG Fewston I’ve wasted the best years of my life in the senseless struggle every artist faces at the beginning of his life, and I can’t make heads or tails of the damn mess. Either way, those years are gone and I’ll never get them back. Back then the…

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A Walk in the Rain

by Rebecca Carenzo “If you can guess what I have in my pocket, you can have it.” “Excuse me?” I ask, turning to face the harried-looking stranger who’d just addressed me out of the blue. I didn’t have a chance to finish my answer before I felt the forceful jab…

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Yonges Island

by Jane Flint The camps are full of pick-up campers and those who come to pick. Brand new packing shed next door: old tomato crates stacked against the fence, long green machine still squeaky-clean. The women wash the clothes the food the children. The men play dice against the wall,…

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Her Hands

by Keryna Stutts Her hands were a blue-green map of work and tears of Sunday dinners of scrap quilts. She held the world when his pain became too much. Cracked then filled with weariness. Her hands became my world of fried pies after school, a cool softness on my brow….

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The Event: Two Perspectives

by Janis A. Brams Perspective One: The Storm Sometimes we sense the storm coming.  We smell rain in the air or recognize the aches that accompany damp weather. Other times storms take us by surprise.  A gentle breeze turns wild, uprooting trees that have stood their ground for centuries. Life…

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Silenced

by Angela LeBlanc Jaspreet and Birpartap sit in my classroom hands folded, lilted handwriting sings on paper Birpartap looks the businessman part no turban, but nearly cried when he lost his glasses on his birthday Jaspreet is embarrassed to heat up her food spiced and loud She stood, shaking as…

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Afternoons

by Keryna Stutts no one ever knew the things that happened when the doors closed when school would end and home was the only place to go in those days the afternoon was scarier than the dark  

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