By Joanna Theiss
Blister heat, sunstroke heat. Melted tar, fried egg heat. T-shirt stuck to the small of my back heat, bunched wet and sour under my armpits heat.
By Lauren Voeltz I read a quote that an overweight woman’s shirt said Guess, and Arnold Schwartzenegger answered, thyroid problem and I think of this when I pop Levothyroxine each morning...
By India Kea
She arrived with clenched fists, wide eyes, and strong lungs. During the cleaning, the elders caught her stretching her neck, peering into the darkness of a near past.
By Karen Walker Lost rain wandering parking lots and highways in search of the earth. Down-on-its-luck rain watering plastic petunias on a twentieth-floor balcony.
By Mary Amato
Marjorie hadn’t noticed that one of the eggs was broken until she arrived home. Once, she had been the kind of person to check before purchasing.
By Andrea Daniels Peanut smoked every bit of meth that night in the hotel. Her sister loaned her money. Not exactly. A check for rehab, far from drugs and close to trees.
By Julia Labusch
My girl and I used to spend hours every Saturday evening strolling our way around the cul-de-sac; her on her Ariel-red trike, and me walking beside.
By Hanne Christensen
I remember this moment. Shrieks and laughter that I ignore. Cold metal on my hands, dizzying anticipation while I calculate whether woodchips are sufficient enough to soften my fall.