Author: reckonreview

  • Coke Bottle / A Burro’s Tale / Fried

    A Small Town Triptych Creative Nonfiction by Charlotte Hamrick Coke Bottle One day Mamma walked in my room and said A body could balance a coke bottle on your butt. She didn’t say if that was good or bad and I didn’t ask. I remember this because Mamma didn’t talk to me directly too much. […]

  • Vultures Are Everywhere

    Fiction by Dave Gregory Lucas relaxes on his front porch, reading, and is jarred by a sudden pulse and buzz from his phone. An Amber Alert glows on his screen. Every working cellphone, across the province, simultaneously receives the same urgent text message. Twelve million people read together: an eight-year-old boy is missing. The suspect […]

  • Imaginary Deaths

    Creative Nonfiction by Stephanie Parent Here is what I remember: The little orphan Heidi separated from her grandfather in Heidi, the Shirley Temple version. I watched the movie one morning before preschool, and then refused to go. My mother let me stay home. Littlefoot’s mother, victim of both a Tyrannosaurus rex and an earthquake in […]

  • River Dolls

    Fiction by Sandra K. Barnidge At first it was just branches, lots of branches, big ones that stuck out of the water, a few leaves clinging desperate to dead black tips. When the big branches hit the shallows in our bend of the river, they snagged on each other and clogged up into a dam, […]

  • Deer

    Fiction by Nick Gardner Lissa hit her hash pen and curved the county roads through mid-Ohio, hoping to forget about the grad school apps Tom had left tabbed up on his MacBook like he wanted her to find them, mouse hovering over submit. He was applying for Gender Studies in places like Tallahassee, Baton Rouge, […]

  • Porcellanidae

    Fiction by Mandira Pattnaik In our parts, the crab-girls wear skirts a little above their knees, twist their arms to look like unfurled bright petals. They glaze porcelain bodies to resemble a trap, a floret blooming. In times such as ours, the crab-girls lie to their mothers, use swear words, race their cycles with boys […]

  • Through the Trees, On a River

    Fiction by Scott Gates His mama had told him it was too hot to be outside after ten, to come on inside, but the heat didn’t bother him. He had nice spot on a little rise near the pond, and he watched the still water from between two of the five trees on their property. […]

  • The Finch Hunter

    Creative NonFiction by Barlow Adams My sister had painted the kitchen a sickly green and her meatloaf was dry. The onions in it were too big and there were too many of them. It was mama’s old recipe. It was only old now because mama died a year ago. Before then, it was just mom’s […]

  • Perseids, World’s End, Last Year

    Fiction by S.E. Hartz As I roll my dad up the hill from the parking lot of the World’s End Country Club, I pray for the clouds to part and make this all worth it. Dad’s gripping his hands to stop his tremors, and I can hear him working the dentures into his gums, nervous […]

  • To Wash and Dry a Vessel

    Fiction by Lannie Stabile It started with a cheap coffee mug. Ceramic. Eleven ounces. A standard right-handed mug, though Mama always held it with her left hand, so the company logo faced inward rather than outward.  Daddy insisted she use one of the eight matching stoneware pieces received for their wedding, but Mama favored the […]