Far from this Howling Corner
By Charmaine WilkersonIt took the gazebo, first, the one on the beach where we used to picnic, the one where we’d made our baby on a crickety night.
When Maisie Draws a House
By Mel GeorgeWhenever Maisie draws a house, it’s a square, pointy-roofed affair with four neat windows and a smoking chimney.
After the Whipping
By Bill KingA boy stands knee-deep on heron-thin legs, stung skin numbing now, as stars prick creek water sliding slow, slow beneath him.
After a Heartless Winter
By Juliana GrayIn May I tilled the garden, so swept up in the work that I churned beyond the boundaries of Grandma’s old plot into rocky soil.
Photo Story: Goat Yoga
By Lisa FairmanWe take revenge during goat-yoga class. A herd of ladies arrive each Saturday, and Friday night we gorge ourselves like horses before a race.
Instructions for Cleaning a Mirror
By Sarah FrelighI have my secrets. I take my time, stare at my face until I’m a stranger, a she who is not me. A she who helps herself to whatever will buff the sharp edges of the world.
Palm Funeral
By Adam SchuitemaThe tallest palm on the atoll lost its fronds long before falling. King tides and storm surges had breached the walls, poisoned it with salt.
The Quiet Sadism of the Powerless
By Heather BourbeauShe woke to news of another stalemate, more children dying on the border, mounting humanitarian crises overseas, and a small mass in her breast.
Photo Story: The Trumpeter’s Caress
By Natalie WuShe waits in the corner, haughty and lacquered. I always sit close, inhaling her delicate scent of beeswax polish.
Catching Rose Baxter in Room 9
By Sabrina HicksShe slid through her memories, trying to capture one, fireflies filling summer near a croaking pond...
Photo Story: Hydroponic Veggie
By Tamara StanleyIt is mostly summer now. Above me there are skyscrapers, McMansions, slums...
Ghost Texts
By Esther GulliBefore work, sitting in her crimson battered minivan, she reads his words again. Milk. Bananas. That bread I like.
Man of Sorrows
By Kim AddonizioNot enough to get crucified. You’ve got to be covered with red spots like an anti-vaxxer’s kid’s measles. Blood everywhere.
Mysteries of Sex
By Kim AddonizioThings were going well, so I risked slipping my hand down my pants. I seemed into it, so I continued on.
My Sister’s House
By Mary GrimmI didn’t want to see the rooms half empty, each dish packed, each rug rolled up.
How My Mother Lost Her Voice and Gave Me Mine
By Nancy LudmererIn 1931, my mother Helen was 9. A daredevil, she challenged boys at their games, ignored their hair pulling, their scrunchy faces.
Ain’t Gonna Stick
By Lauren KosaBy the time I met him, in my thirties, my expectations were properly tempered.
Because Some Doors Never Open
By Tommy DeanThere’s something about a baby-gate left unhinged. The way it lists to the right like a barn door left open for a pregnant stray cat.
