Topics | Friendship | The Sun Magazine #3

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Friendship

Poetry

Vanished

Where do those lost socks / go? The ones that vanish / between washer and dryer, / submerge in suds and never / surface again?

By Rebecca Baggett December 2022
Readers Write

Changing Your Mind

About a career, about college, about living in America

By Our Readers November 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Ohashi Bridge In The Rain

When we met for lunch, she wore a dark silk dress and red lipstick. At the school where we both taught, she always dressed practically: plastic boots, a raincoat over a faded blue sweatshirt, a white sailor’s cap.

By Marilyn Abildskov October 2022
Poetry

Preparations

You can prepare for some things. / Others fall on you like / meteors ripping open the sky.

By Bill Glose September 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Hey, Man

You’d donated most of your organs, so the body in your coffin was basically a scarecrow version of you. . . . Thank God they don’t do brain transplants, I thought. Anybody who’d gotten your brain would’ve woken up from surgery a total asshole. I heard you laughing at this. I could remember your laugh really well. It was a letdown that I could hear it only in my head.

By John Paul Scotto August 2022
Fiction

Sticks And Stones

In 1986 I was the Horse Girl of St. Margaret’s, the tallest girl in sixth grade, with dark-brown hair I tossed like a mane.

By Erin Almond July 2022
The Dog-Eared Page

Four Poems From Ancient China

Call next door, ask / neighbors on the west if they can spare / any wine, and suddenly a jarful comes / across the fence — fresh, unfiltered. We / open mats beside Meandering River’s / long currents, crystalline winds arrive, / and you’re startled it’s already autumn.

Translated By David Hinton June 2022
Poetry

Love In Our Seventies

We don’t take each other for granted, because we know we’re old. Sometimes when we’re bird-watching — field guides, binoculars — happy to be looking at egrets or green-winged teal, I think, One of us is going to die first.

By Ellery Akers June 2022
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Beacon

I felt a flash of hope for you, even though I knew — because of the distant and resigned tone of your voice — that you were going to die soon.

By John Paul Scotto March 2022
Fiction

Saved

It was true what Mrs. Berry said: no one expected to see an old woman in a muscle car, a red and black Mustang convertible with a scooped hood and an engine that ran with a throaty hum.

By John Fulton March 2022