-
Ruth
Fiction by Dan Crawley Her upper body bows over a pile of Scratcher games in the middle of the bed. She’s wielding a quarter on a bright red two dollar ticket. “Goddammit,” she mutters and starts to work furiously on another. I stand near the edge of the mattress. I might as well be acres…
-
Osmosis
Fiction by Sara Hills The guy who wants to date my daughter shows up an hour late, swings his long hair like a cape and brings my daughter a square bottle of whisky with fruit in it, not flowers or an apology for being late but whisky and yes, I roll my eyes even though…
-
Polish
Creative Nonfiction by Meredith McCarroll Box turtles lived in the woods above our house. Our dog, Alphie, roamed the neighborhood and returned home covered in spurs, with muddy paws and snout, with bloated ticks standing on end. Alphie carried these turtles to the front door and dropped them gently for us to see. Mom found…
-
The Hottest and Longest Lasting Fire
Fiction by Michaella A. Thornton A few of the mothers from the neighborhood stand in line together six feet apart at an Illinois pot dispensary. To get here, they have ridden the shuttle bus from the now-shuttered Gateway Fun Park, an amusement park their teenagers once loved to visit as kids. While these moms now…
-
Family Portrait
Fiction by Michael Bettendorf The portrait on the dusty mantle was of a family who didn’t own new cars and never would. Flannel-clad and wearing their good jeans, the family sat uncomfortably in a studio worth more than their house. They wore polyester smiles and were told if they worked hard enough, they could accomplish…
-
Sweet Fruit
Creative Nonfiction by Karen Luke Jackson You ate that first one and its flesh was sweetLike thickened wine: summer’s blood was in itLeaving stains upon the tongue Seamus Heaney, “Blackberry-Picking” The summer my mother was five, she and her older brother Buck went blackberry picking. Working along a fence row, they filled a pail and a cup…
-
Princess Visitation
Creative Nonfiction by Linda Parsons Digging in my drawer of ‘unmentionables,’ as ladies used to say, I thought an old camisole would work. Covid has taught me to make do or do without. I wasn’t about to lose my garden tomatoes to the birds’ swift strike, which opens them to wormy ruination. I had no…
-
Gangrene
Fiction by Richard Holinger “Don’t go gangrene on me,” is what I tell the foot, but it has no common sense. It blames the black and smelly on me. “What you run into fenceposts for?” it asks. “Well maybe it jump out at me,” I answer because the snowmobile has got no radar. New powder…
-
If Wishes Were Fishes
Creative Nonfiction by Susan Fuchtman I I took Andy and walked to some friends’ homes, just a morning out, so we weren’t there when the UPS man dropped off the package, his last stop. On his drive home, on the curve approaching the grain elevator in Page City, a gust of wind blew over his…