Der Sachsenspiegel

By Danielle Lenhard
In "Images of Rape," Diane Wolfthal describes a 13th-century practice for litigating rape. If a woman is raped in her home, who goes on trial? The person who raped her? No.


Sydney Lea
Everything could evaporate. Goodness. Malice. January. August. No notes played or sung, no modulations.


By Myna Chang
There’s a split second, after the ignition catches and the radio blasts out a loud loud song from high school, when time strikes...

The Hill

By Hannah Marshall
I never learned to flatter, to dove like a wisp of white grace, instead challenging boys to footraces and tackling them into grass stains...


By Alisa Williams
In the bare branches of the hedge outside my window sits a cardinal, his handsome red coat fluffed against the wind and flakes of snow that drift from a clouded sky.

My Lithuanian Holocaust Survivor Grandmother—

By Tamara MC
BEFORE: Hot water burbled in samovars. You strolled cobblestone streets, clicking your heels. DURING: You sipped grass soup.

When your son, who hates everything, who even hates playing sports,

By Amy R. Martin
... asks to play Ultimate Frisbee, you drive him—begrudgingly—to practice. The field is green, squelchy from morning rain. The sky like a Dutch cloud painting.

Coffee Drinks

By Cynthia Belmonto
Twenty-two, I was with my first lover, not college-girl exploring but the real deal.

Struck Silent by Whalesong

By James Claffey
The morning of my mother's last day on earth the nurses didn't notice her waif-like frame slip out the door...

Hunger Pangs

By Rachel Nevada Wood
We are sitting in the kitchen when I ask her if she still loves me. As she answers, she begins to remove all of the things I don’t like from a paper container of fried rice —the peas, the carrots, the chicken...


By Vimla Sriram
Her kitchen appears unused. No plantain peels huddled in the corner. No orphan mustard seeds – until she wanders in between medication to make adai for her American grandson.

A Gray Inchworm on a Gray Sidewalk

Michelle Ross
How easily the runner could have crushed it. The inchworm’s camouflage, which conceals it from predators, makes the inchworm vulnerable to the human jogging along neighborhood sidewalks, the human who does not intend the inchworm harm.

On the anniversary of my mother’s death

By Karen J. Weyant
my student emails me to say that his own mother has died, and I type the obligatory I’m sorry because I am...

All The Lies I’ve Told You So Far

By Mel George
The playground is closing now. The ball pool isn’t open. We have to hold hands in the car park.

Ctrl + alt + delete

By Chelsey Clammer
Consider yourself a task I have ended. Our relationship, a 404 not found. Our connection now disconnected.


By Anri Wheeler
“You don’t look biracial,” he says, certain. We’ve just met.


By Sarah Swandell
The day of the appointment, I hit a bird with my car.

As Close As I Came

By Dina L. Relles
I spent the better part of a drive trying to say what love is and still can’t.

Monster Neck

By John Meyers
When I was young I never thought about my neck. It was smooth and supple like the rest of me. Now my neck is a monster.


By Kevin Simmons
When she opened and heaved and birthed our daughter onto our mattress, I knew we’d never be rid of that bed—the one my dad offered to us, newlywed and broke...