Topics | Marriage | The Sun Magazine #3


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It was never / in the news / or on Twitter / or Facebook or / Instagram / that on October / twenty-third, / two thousand / eighteen, at six-thirty PM

By Molly Bashaw January 2021


When Sarah’s mother, Penny, got sick four years into our marriage, we decided to move back to Mississippi, considering it penance for the sins of our youth. We signed a lease on a house, a white one-story on the historical register with a wraparound porch and angels, stars, and the moon painted on the transom above the front door.

By Terry Engel October 2020

Braiding His Hair

Here we are each morning: / my husband on our old kitchen chair, its upholstery / while I comb out his long / wheat-colored hair.

By Alison Luterman September 2020

Groundhog, Woodchuck, Whistlepig

When he tired of talking, he’d slap a red, hand-shaped conclusion to the quarrel onto my face, pressing his brand upon me, the mark that labeled me as his.

By Samuel J Adams September 2020
Readers Write


Sharing a cab, hitching a ride, staying in a marriage

By Our Readers September 2020
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Sex After Death

I’d thought dating would make me feel less grief, but it was the opposite. I decided to delete my account and learn to masturbate. I had enough sadness in my own life.

By Beth Alvarado July 2020
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Empty Set

I was six years old when I became aware that death was something that would happen to me. I was in the car with my mom, in the backseat because she followed the rules, and we were on our way home from the grocery store.

By Sam Bell April 2020
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

How It Ends

It begins like this: You drop your son off at kindergarten. His first day of school. You think that nothing in your life will be as big as this: the moment he drops your hand, he who has clung to you since birth, since that first breath of air, first scream, first frantic rooting for the breast.

By Louise A. Blum March 2020
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

The Cat Years

He stops short, horrified that he has interrupted his employer during an emotional moment. Bishop quickly wipes away her tears and says, in Portuguese, Don’t worry, José. I’m only crying in English.

By Christine Marshall January 2020


When I was young, years ago, canoeing on the green / Green River, with my young first husband, / I wriggled out of my shorts, eased over the lip / of our little boat, and became eel-woman, / naked and glistening, borne along in the current.

By Alison Luterman December 2019