A HAND • by Peggy Lee
A hand. That is what I remember. Its warmth on my skin. The soft skin hidden within the curve of my thigh. The place I like to fold my own hand at night. It’s cosy there. Warm. Comforting. It feels… Continue Reading
memories
JIMMY’S HAIKU • by Jakob Westpfahl
On our first day back from Summer Break, my best friend Jimmy fell out of his chair clutching his knee, screaming. I laughed, believing this to be an out-of-place practical joke I was usually in on. Jimmy kept saying his… Continue Reading
OUT OF BOYFRIEND EXPERIENCE • by Clare Diston
Party, cigarette in hand, sequinned cocktail dress reflecting the strobe lights. A hand taps my shoulder but I do not turn. A voice — my own — whispers in my ear, and a hand extends over my shoulder to point… Continue Reading
SHOULD’VE JUST STUCK WITH THE DAMN DORITOS • by Alex Z. Salinas
The strangest thing anyone’s ever told me was that I reminded them of a Ruffles sour cream and onion potato chip. That’s right, a Ruffles sour cream and onion potato chip. It happened my third year of college. A classmate… Continue Reading
LIFE, ASSISTED • by J. Lynne Moore
A breathy voice swept through Hazel’s mind like the glimpse of a memory: This is your last day. She gazed out from her square view of the world, mind muddled from a combination of medication, insomnia, and disease. Her cloudy,… Continue Reading
ABSTRACTION • by Grant Longstaff
We are sitting on two iron chairs you pulled from the rubble, watching the dying, honey-coloured flames caress the remains of the smouldering café, the metal at our backs still warm. Dark smoke, filled with the sharp scent of burnt… Continue Reading
WE WILL WORK IT OUT • by Karen R. Arbogast
There you are, standing atop the Natural Bridge at Red River Gorge, Kentucky hugging a pine tree, pretending to be afraid to let go. But you aren’t pretending. You’re afraid of heights. It is mid-September, 1984. This picture was taken… Continue Reading
ARTIFACTS • by Martha Crisalli
“You seem lost, can I help you?” As she turned into the side street from Third Avenue, Laura felt disoriented. The sidewalk was crowded with people, but one concerned stranger stopped to offer assistance. She swallowed her pride and handed… Continue Reading
REMEMBERING HALEY • by Dustin Adams
Memories of my first day of kindergarten rise like a bubble from oceanic depths toward sunlight. I’m approaching a giant white door ensconced in the towering brick building that is Middleton Elementary. Mike Jamison stands there nervously alone as I… Continue Reading
LIKE SNOWFLAKES DANCING • by Cathy McCrumb
On my drive home last night, the flakes danced in and out of my car’s headlights, and a dusting of snow moved in low eddies over the pavement. The sounds of Pachelbel’s Canon in D echoed the snow’s dance. The… Continue Reading