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Parents

Poetry

In the Freezer

she kept pig haunches, / the shoulder joints of cows, / buffalo neck and guts, / all stuck to the ziplock bags. / If anyone ever asked, / Mother simply laughed.

By Jodie Hollander April 2024
Fiction

Bridge Kid

As I was dabbing up cookie crumbs, the toddler appeared at the top of the stairs, sucking his thumb and crying. Only then did it occur to me that the boys had not been back up in some time. I patted his damp hair and went to check on his brothers.

By Chelsea Bowlby March 2024
Readers Write

Yard Sales

Hunting for bargains, letting go of possessions, emptying out a home

By Our Readers March 2024
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Surrogates

Twin had lived inside a concrete kennel for four of her five years. Wylie, who also lived inside a concrete box, had gone to prison as a teen. He’d cared for Twin since she was a puppy, which meant he had likely opened her kennel to feed her and let her out thousands of times.

By Jennifer Bowen March 2024
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Don’t Think Too Hard about Avocados

I swear my brain wasn’t always like this. I used to daydream during church sermons, school lessons, and long bus rides. I may have been a shy, awkward nerd with good grades and bad social skills, but inside I was building worlds, whole continents created from nothing and populated with sprawling cities, brave heroes, and looming threats. These days the continents are barren, the heroes defenseless against spotted produce.

By Hank Stephenson February 2024
Readers Write

Fantasy

Calling a 1-900 number, moving to the tropics, writing fan fiction

By Our Readers February 2024
Readers Write

Drama

A high-school play, a support group, a catechism class

By Our Readers January 2024
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Anger Management

Dr. B. spun a finger in the air, his signal to let the games begin. I think I called Michael a “no-good fucking loser,” a put-down one of my bosses had once leveled at me. I watched Michael’s hands form fists and the whites of his eyes get bigger.

By Mishele Maron January 2024
Poetry

Lumps of Coal

He was ten and drove a team of mules / through the shadows in mine shafts, / pulling a wagonload of coal / that glinted in the carbide light / anchored to his cotton cap.

By Robert P. Cooke December 2023
Fiction

Basements

I was considered “good,” considered a “good influence.” It amazed me — like the cool feeling of Marshall’s tongue on my labia had amazed me — that I could possess all of these qualities; that I could be both warm and cold, virtuous and defiant; and that someone could love me for all of it.

By Lauren Hohle December 2023