Reckon Review

Tag: Creative Nonfiction

  • Heatwave

    Nonfiction by Elizabeth Enochs The heat index is 113 when I take my lunch break and even on full blast my car’s AC is no match, and it’s not like I’m unaccustomed to heat — southeast Missouri rarely does “mild;” summers swelter and winters bite — but I’m thinking of those who don’t have AC,…

  • One Sheep a Herd Makes

    Creative Nonfiction by Kate M. Carey “Get Up. I need help with Snowball.” My mother shook my shoulder. It’s late winter in Ohio. Blowing icy crystals forced the farm animals into the barn. Not the best lambing weather. “C’mon on. Dress warm. It’s almost zero out.” She left my bedroom. I opened an eye to…

  • Buried Nitrogen: The Venus Vignettes

    By Sandra Barnidge There’s a new ice cream place in town that’s located conveniently (dangerously) close to both my daughter’s favorite playground and a plant nursery. Every few days, we make a loop that starts at “the bumpy slide,” then passes through the nursery, and then—if you’re good, if you don’t fuss while Mommy looks…

  • After the Nashville Shooting

    An Essay by Emry Trantham I. It’s 2009. I am twenty-three. My husband will be turning twenty-four at the end of the week, and I’ve been working for the last month to get him the perfect gift. It’s his first birthday as a dad. I want to get him a handgun. He can use it…

  • The Artful Academic: Writing Unspeakable Moments

    By Brandy Renee McCann Dissociation is a common experience among those of us who’ve experienced trauma. We’ve all experienced mild out-of-body experiences where we lose touch with the present moment—for example, zoning out during a conversation or binging on a TV series to get respite from a stressful period. Even intensely positive experiences can lead…

  • Cornbread, Piss, and Figs: An Essay on Grief and Home

    By Jessica Cory It’s nearing 8:30 PM the Sunday before Spring Equinox when I find myself in the darkened backseat of my husband’s red Outback weaving through the Blue Ridge Mountains with a hunk of cornbread in my left hand as my right rests on a bucket quarter-full of undiluted, pungent, piss. A note on…

  • Soundscapes: Music Practice

    By Erin Calabria I can’t talk about music without talking about silence. During high school, when I began composing on the piano, I didn’t tell my teacher. This music wasn’t like anything I’d ever been assigned, the fingerings were meant to fit rather than strain my small hands, and everything was by ear. This music…

  • A Parental Reckoning: Parenting and Writing in Liminal Spaces (and they are all liminal spaces)

    By Amy Barnes Liminal:occupying a position at, or on both sides of, a boundary or threshold relating to a transitional or initial stage of a process. My daughter and I buy ICEES and beef jerky in a Buc-ees at 2:00 AM. There’s electric energy in the nearly-empty store. It’s only a roadside stop on the…

  • AITA: Am I the Asshole For Not Walking Away From Omelas

    Creative Nonfiction by Paul Crenshaw I, (51 M), was born and raised in Omelas, and have lived here all my life. It is a beautiful town, bright-towered by the sea. The Festival of Summer arrives and the bells ring and under the great avenues of trees the stately processions begin. There is music, dancing. Arts…

  • Those Little Rising Lights

    By Cathy Ulrich Every morning, it’s still dark when I wake. Even in the longest days of summer, I wake before the sun. In the dark, I can see the lights from town. The airport sits atop the horizon, all red and white blinking lights. Without my glasses, they are blur and shimmer, not quite…