Prose
Irupé: Stories of Yearning from the Heart of South America
Kathrin Salame I. Monseñor “¡Chipería Mi Abuela!, ¡Dos chipas a dos mil!” And the sound of the revving engines of motorcycles and feet hitting the broken, uneven streets, and concrete dust that stains the shoes with every step. That is my house; that is my street; that is a miniature… Read More Irupé: Stories of Yearning from the Heart of South America
Like the Back of My Hand
Greta R. Cunningham My mom would like us to be more similar. She grasps my hands, lining up our fingers like a palimpsest, tracing what she claims to be the twin arcs of our nail beds. My mom would like us to be more similar, but her genes didn’t really stand a chance. Blue eyes.… Read More Like the Back of My Hand
Gifts from My Father
Natalie Antonia May The gift of life, to start, though he didn’t play as big a role as my mother. He kind of just signed the card. A puppet from wherever he traveled for work. A Hedgehog from England. A Wombat from Australia, which married my American Porcupine. They had several, cross-breed, dual-citizenship babies. One… Read More Gifts from My Father
Midnight Michael, My Mother, and Me
James Frazier-Wilson It is nighttime, at the train station, a faded facade of concrete and metal. I can tell where the paint used to be bright, where the grimy steps used to be clean, what the stony pillars looked like before they were cluttered with missing posters and advertisements for yoga classes. It is ugly… Read More Midnight Michael, My Mother, and Me
A Week in My Mind in Preparation For an Afternoon in Exotic Rugs
Kieran Mulligan There is a version of this story in which I arrive at the rug store and say “I’m working on a project for my writing class where we have to immerse ourselves in a location and write about it, I promise I’ll do my best rug impression and stay out of the way,”… Read More A Week in My Mind in Preparation For an Afternoon in Exotic Rugs
Baby! Baby! Baby!
Alijah Hill In Cedar Ridge, not a single house had a backyard. The mountain, instead, allowed these tiny houses to exist and use her evergreens for curtains. It wasn’t so much a town as it was one long paved road with dirt driveways that snaked up to houses that made up Cedar Road. No one… Read More Baby! Baby! Baby!
The Creature and Me
Natalie May Mississippi My mother’s stepmother points her wine-drunk gaze at my brother and me. “Your mother,” she begins, slurred but scripted, “is the best mother I’ve ever known. I was a shitty mom. But you guys–you guys have seen the world.” She’s not wrong. We’ve seen Canada, England, Scotland, Germany, the Czech Republic, Spain,… Read More The Creature and Me
The Advertisement
Grace Valaskovic Marjorie Ruben sat with her hands locked firmly in her lap, oscillating her weight from side to side. So tightly and unforgiving were her fingers grasping at each other that she began to lose blood flow; first the tips of her fingers turned purple, then the color spread until it reached the knuckle… Read More The Advertisement
Gardening
Natalie May You two look so alike. I glance at my mother and she glances at me, and we laugh because we’ve never seen it and never will. My mother is blonde hair and grey-blue eyes. She’s crossfit and book reviews and a bootstraps Southern outlook that slowly dwindles but never dies. Really, she’s home… Read More Gardening
a study in erosion
Lily Walters i. you told me, once, that we are a mosaic of star stuff. we were cramped together on your little twin bed, staring up at the peeling plaster of your ceiling, the water stain in the corner above your desk. everything seemed to push against everything else, then. hardwood floors with plush rugs,… Read More a study in erosion
