PRODIGAL SUN by David Lydon-Staley
Fiction by David Lydon-Staley PRODIGAL SUN “What time dya say he was comin’?” I asked the wife. I had the teapot and some cups out. But should I get the kettle boiling was the question. For it to be ready,…
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LEGIONELLA BACTERIA, by Zoé Mahfouz
Flash by by Zoé MahfouzLEGIONELLA BACTERIA Dear Landlord, I have to admit I was rather appalled by your tenancy agreement. I quote: “We confirm that we believe the Premises are safe and free from legionella bacteria,” really? What is it…
HIGHWAY 90, by Ellen Wilson
Nonfiction by Ellen Wilson HIGHWAY 90 We made the drive for the first time on Thanksgiving morning. My one-night stay was planned, but I had to be admitted through the emergency room, and our thinking was that by leaving in…
WE DON’T TALK, by Tracie Adams
Flash by Tracie AdamsWE DON’T TALK We have a pact, an unwritten and unspoken one. We don’t talk. Unless you count that one time every year when I call you and we chat for over an hour while your hair…
A FEW UNTIED ANGELS AT DUSK by Barrett Warner
Nonfiction by Barrett Warner A FEW UNTIED ANGELS AT DUSK Once so obvious and common—consumption now wears many disguises. It can live in an elbow, pretending to be bursitis. It can lodge in the brain or spine, like a migraine.…
YOUR CHILDHOOD WAS WITCHCRAFT, by Eden Royce
Flash by Eden RoyceYOUR CHILDHOOD WAS WITCHCRAFT Remember? When you licked the blood from your scraped knees and elbows, cleaning your wounds like an animal would, the taste of metal and salt on your tongue. The pulse of pain lessened…
TESTIMONY, by Connor Fisher
Flash by Connor FisherTESTIMONY I never touched the horse in question, although, at various points in my life I have, largely against my will, been made to saddle, groom, ride, and stroke horses. I did once approach the horse—an allegedly…
THE HYPHENATE, by Pamela Balluck
Nonfiction by Pamela BalluckTHE HYPHENATE I hyphenated my last name on my front-porch mailbox after a harebrained ex-boyfriend from my teens (he then in his late twenties) found me on the Internet in the twenty-first century, persistently emailed (despite initially…
SPITFIRE by Jeff Gabel
Fiction by Jeff GabelSPITFIRE My mother-in-law believes in signs. She believes in synchronicity and premonition. This wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for her obsession with death. When Neil and I told her we were naming our girl after…
YELLOW, by Jeffrey G. Moss
Flash by Jeffrey G. MossYELLOW It is a late October afternoon, darkness coming on quick, and Phyllis DeLuna, one of three widowed sisters who live across the street, is standing on her front stoop waving me over. “We’re putting the…
[ABUELITA PLANTING JARS AT BASE IN RATTLING CANE,] by Christopher David Rosales
Poetry by Christopher David Rosales[ABUELITA PLANTING JARS AT BASE IN RATTLING CANE,] Abuelita planting jars at base in rattling cane,whisking lilies, to allude your curve. A pedal in rotation only hints, spoked light, foot flat in utterance, shoestring. To you…
WHEN MOUNTAINS WERE PEOPLE by Lindsey Godfrey Eccles
Fiction by Lindsey Godfrey Eccles WHEN MOUNTAINS WERE PEOPLE Long ago when mountains were people there were two sisters, each so tall her forehead touched the sky, and each so beautiful that anyone who saw her stared in wonder. Between…
DUPLEX, by Elly Katz
Poetry by Elly Katz DUPLEX dark is darker than I remember was it a dream or a memory? rescue me from these shadows on the undersurface of spiral threads nude twists and turns mounting dismounting that called off glowing ground…
2023.32, by Bradley J. Fest
Poetry by Bradley J. Fest2023.32 Soaring amaranthis getting you down on the floor again? Diane Seuss’s long line’ll [1] set things right while hazarding the new kinds of loneliness. The body that is your body is and always has been…
HARD TIMES, RACE, AND CLASSIC MOVIES, by Margo Sanabria
Nonfiction by Margo SanabriaHARD TIMES, RACE, AND CLASSIC MOVIES By the time I was ten I was a classic movies devotee. It still makes me smile to think of an African-American child with cat-eye glasses, three pigtails, two in back…
ORIGIN STORY by Krista Puttler
Fiction by Krista Puttler ORIGIN STORY Mama, where do stories come from? They come from a dog’s ear. No, they don’t! They come from your fingertips! You mean fingernails. No, I don’t. Pens, pencils, keyboards… Blood, pain, anticipation… What are…
LITTLE ODE TO TAKING THE DOG OUT, by John Minczeski
Poetry by John Minczeski LITTLE ODE TO TAKING THE DOG OUT The last trip to the yard for the night, temperature not minus anything just now. The day, having lost its train of thought, clung to twilight like a lamprey.…
THE BODY SHOP, by Jessica Klimesh
Flash by Jessica KlimeshTHE BODY SHOP I find a pair of arms in my size and put them on, then exchange my middle-aged ears for some keener ones since Lyle says I don’t listen, says it’s just one of my…
BECAUSE AT LEAST WE DRINK FRESH ROAST, by Coleman Bigelow
Flash by Coleman BigelowBECAUSE AT LEAST WE DRINK FRESH ROAST When we first dropped out of design school, coffee was our everything—the intoxicating grounds providing just the jittering jolt our imaginations required. Each sip sending us bareback on burros ascending…
GOD’S LOVE IS TWO WOMEN FROM A QUILTING GUILD IN MISSOULA, MONTANA, by Kiely Todd Roska
Flash by Kiely Todd RoskaGOD’S LOVE IS TWO WOMEN FROM A QUILTING GUILD IN MISSOULA, MONTANA You fly halfway across the country to clean your mom’s house and plan her funeral. She died by suicide a week and a half…
TRUE NORTH, by Herman Beavers
Poetry by Herman BeaversTRUE NORTH Sidereal & reassuring, lightattired in the color of plums.Aching with sap, the trees’throb of sweetness’s likea ghost vexing me. Grass browningunder its pointed stare,a ground hog, back curved amongthe sycamore leaves, presses closeagainst the gravel,…
THE HOUSE WITH WALLS OF HONEY by Judith Serin
Nonfiction by Judith Serin THE HOUSE WITH WALLS OF HONEY in memory of Herbert Yee and 39 years together The house with walls of honey. Bees swarmed into the house and we let them stay. Their buzzing lulled our sleep.…
THE ARMAGEDDON SURF CLUB by Sinclair Cabocel
Fiction by Sinclair Cabocel THE ARMAGEDDON SURF CLUB When the trumpets sounded, Monica was propped up on her elbows, watching Mateo shred from the sandy shore. The other beachgoers swiveled their heads, as if they might find some passing band…
AI, THE END, by Anders Howerton
Poetry by Anders HowertonAI, THE END We had done it before with skylines,migrations, lasagna, and this too was alive, a chamber of neurons, layered like we are. Everyone ever known now looms before us. It rose like a scaffold, part…
ON THE OTHER HAND… (PART 2), by Clifford Thompson
Clifford Thompson ON THE OTHER HAND… (PART 2) Read ON THE OTHER HAND… (Part 1) Clifford Thompson’s books include What It Is: Race, Family, and One Thinking Black Man’s Blues (2019), which Time magazine called one of the most anticipated…
GREEN WORLD: A TRAGICOMIC MEMOIR OF LOVE AND SHAKESPEARE, by Michelle Ephraim, reviewed by Benjamin Selesnick
Nonfiction by Michelle Ephraim, reviewed by Benjamin SelesnickGREEN WORLD: A TRAGICOMIC MEMOIR OF LOVE AND SHAKESPEARE (University of Massachusetts Press) The genre of second generation Holocaust survivor memoirs has grown vast with contributions ranging from graphic novels like Maus to…
WONDERLAND, by Nicole Treska, reviewed by Monica Wendel
Nonfiction by Nicole Treska, reviewed by Monica WendelWONDERLAND (Simon & Schuster) Some memoirs feel like stories told in a therapist’s office. The white noise machine, a box of tissues, predictable healing arcs. Other memoirs can feel braggy, like the writer…
FOR THE FUTURE OF GIRLS, by Lisa Grunberger, reviewed by Angelina Sciolla
Poetry by Lisa Grunberger, reviewed by Angelina SciollaFOR THE FUTURE OF GIRLS (Kelsay Books) Think about the first time you ran your hands over a relief map or globe—likely as a child in elementary school—and consider how your palms encountered…
A PERSONAL ARCHAEOLOGY OF SOUND AS TOLD IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER by M. Lin
M. LinA PERSONAL ARCHAEOLOGY OF SOUND AS TOLD IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER 1989: 乾你娘 – ‘gan4 ni3 niang2’ – ‘gan’ in the 4th tone meaning fuck. As in ‘you motherfucker’ If you passed them in a dark alley, you’d say…
TOSTA MISTA/MIXED TOAST by Oona Patrick
Oona PatrickTOSTA MISTA/MIXED TOAST On my first trip to Portugal, I ate tosta mista, or mixed toast, nearly every day because it was the only sandwich I knew how to pronounce. The mista distinguishes your order from cheese toast or…
THE BLUE PEN by Alex Rost
Alex RostTHE BLUE PEN I’m writing this with a blue pen. Traditionally, and consistently, I’ve always been a black pen kind of guy. I think most of us are. You can say that about a lot of things. You can…
CATSUIT by Cameron MacKenzie
Cameron MacKenzieCATSUIT Every time Ally’s mom’s boyfriend fed his ball python, he played “Mouth for War,” by Pantera. My friend Tyler and I would squat beside the snake’s aquarium under the hot light and watch the little mouse as it…
SUMMONED TO PERFORM AT ALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT by Holaday Mason
Holaday MasonSUMMONED TO PERFORM AT ALL HOURS OF THE NIGHT 1. It’s so late I can hear my grandmother, Margery, slap an ace-high straight down on linoleum, light a Doral, become smoke. We are so wet again, our pool hair…
PRECIOUS THINGS by A.L. Gordon
A.L. GordonPRECIOUS THINGS An octopus has three hearts. I no longer have one. With his eight arms, maybe he could have reached out and grabbed you when you were slipping away. The two arms I wrapped around your thin body…
FRAGMENTS FOR AN IDENTICAL TWIN by Marj Hahne
Marj HahneFRAGMENTS FOR AN IDENTICAL TWIN Cleave. Ends with leave. Let’s begin there. Because there includes here. Whenever you leave, I sense my own absence. Right before the last time you left, you screamed, “You got what you wanted! I’m…
HOW A BOY COULD BE by Jen Murphy Parker
Third Place, Duality Creative Nonfiction Contest, 2024 Like all good personal essays, this one brings the humility and wisdom of experience to bear on a look at a past self, with sympathy for that self. The boy of the title…
HER HEART WAS A CHIPMUNK by Michael Czyzniejewski
Michael CzyzniejewskiHER HEART WAS A CHIPMUNK She said her heart was a chipmunk, said it on our first date. I figured she was being poetic, saying something like My heart is a chipmunk to mean she herself was like a…
CANARYVILLE GIRLS by Eileen Toomey
Second Place, Duality Creative Nonfiction Contest, 2024 This short gem manages to tell us almost nothing, and yet everything, about the girls of the title, capturing the complex dance between person and environment. The descriptions of what these girls pass…
WHAT THEY CALL ME by Hana S. Elysia
First Place, Duality Creative Nonfiction Contest, 2024 We are made to feel for the central character in this sad, moving work through the way place is evoked—both the place she is in and the one to which she aches to…
ANOTHER WEEK LEFT OF GRAND ROUNDS WITH DR. WEBBER by Luanne Castle
Luanne CastleANOTHER WEEK LEFT OF GRAND ROUNDS WITH DR. WEBBER My eyes lock onto Dr. Webber’s seed pearl spectacle cord as she launches clinical phrases from the patient report. After our first day trailing her, I bought a similar cord,…
ON THE OTHER HAND… by Clifford Thompson
Clifford Thompson ON THE OTHER HAND… Origins of My Comics As a young boy growing up in Washington, DC, in the early 1970s, I fell in love with the comic strip Peanuts, which left two indelible marks on me: a…
REUNION by David L. Updike
David L. UpdikeREUNION My kindergarten class’s fiftieth reunion is underway. It’s being hosted by two of our classmates, Mike Finnegan and Linda Haupt, who ended up dating in high school and getting married shortly after graduation. They’re now grandparents and…
WAG by Magda Andrews-Hoke
Magda Andrews-HokeWAG On my twenty-fifth birthday I saw a greyhoundin a little red jacket being walked by a womanin a Scandinavian sweater. I said aloud,“Is this what it’s like to grow older?” I canmake no head, no tail of it:…
FIVE HEARTS by David Waters
David WatersFIVE HEARTS Physician Notes Patient Name: Barbara Fields Chief Complaint: chronic yearning History of Present Illness: This pleasant 38-year-old, well-developed, well-nourished woman—looking younger than her stated age—comes to the Emergency Department complaining of unrequited desire. She is oriented as…
ONO CHICKEN by Micah Grotegut
Micah GrotegutONO CHICKEN Scrolling through the news, I clicked on a video headlined “Historic Lahaina Burnt Down in Wildfire.” I listened to the reporter describe the ashy remains of once-standing homes and shells of vehicles strewn on apocalyptic roads, the…
FAIRYTALE by Ho-Ming So Denduangrudee
Ho-Ming So DenduangrudeeFAIRYTALE Once upon a time, one of my children assured me that “America” was not just the name of a country but the name of the world. My children are young and have no memory of Thailand, where…
THREE FLASH ON MOTHERHOOD by Cassie Burkhardt
Cassie BurkhardtTHREE FLASH ON MOTHERHOOD MUD KITCHEN Dirt is the bane of my existence, but my kids love it—can’t resist it, never met a mud puddle they didn’t immediately want to wade in barefoot. All I see is laundry. We…
SLAPPED by Hart Vetter
Hart Vetter SLAPPED “Just let it rise,” said Aaron. He’d had it. My son and I had schlepped over two dozen filled buckets out the basement up the steps to the front door and dumped them down the driveway, mercifully…
I FEEL LIKE I COULD STAND HERE WITH YOU ALL NIGHT AND IT WOULD BE THE WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE by Erika Krouse
Erika KrouseI FEEL LIKE I COULD STAND HERE WITH YOU ALL NIGHT AND IT WOULD BE THE WORST NIGHT OF MY LIFE I work at Ye Olde Curio Shoppe downtown. We consign from the community—people bring in old family items…
TRICH by Amanda Gaines
Amanda GainesTRICH You ask him to wrest his fingers into the base of your hair from behind you. To pull. To undo you, the cartilage of your throat cutting against your taut skin, neck arced like a bridge over stygian…