Category: Prose
-
Inheritance, Listed
Fiction by Sean Alan Cleary 1. Paul has a problem, which is he cannot seem to wake up early enough. He likes the silence of mornings in spring before the birds even wake — the flat light of May mornings in Cambridge. Now, though, even in the dark, he hears his son stirring in…
-
We Are All Art Monsters
Nonfiction by Rachel Lyon Like many readers I encountered the phrase “art monster” when I read Jenny Offill’s novel Department of Speculation. “My plan was to never get married,” her female narrator says. “I was going to be an art monster instead. Women almost never become art monsters because art monsters only concern themselves with…
-
Where the Sun Turned Green
Fiction by Michael Diehl Pezley I used to think I’d grow to be eight feet tall. That’s how big our backyard was. It was over a decade later that I learned people, unlike goldfish, grow inwardly and that the perimeters of that space are nonexistent. Still, it was a big yard, bigger than any…
-
Baby Books
Nonfiction by Alyssa Ross +++“You were an awful child,” Mother likes to say, especially when she has some red wine and an audience. She weaves exaggerated tales in her slight Southern bark: stories about the terrible things I’ve done and the grief she’s endured.
-
Don’t Stop Me Now
Christine Quattro, Don’t Stop Me Now, Essay Christine Quattro, Nonfiction Christine Quattro, queen christine quattro, queen essay christine quattro, Queen essay quattroNonfiction by Christine Quattro (November 23, 1991) Five days before Thanksgiving, Freddie Mercury released a statement. It said that he was dying. Twenty-four hours later, he was gone.
-
Weddings
Ben Warner fiction, Ben Warner short story, Ben Warner Weddings, Benjamin Warner, Benjamin Warner Weddings, Weddings Ben Warner, Weddings Benjamin WarnerFiction by Benjamin Warner There was a month of them. Saturdays. Back to back without a break. The first was a Catholic ceremony in a church with a ceiling painted midnight blue with silver and yellow constellations.
-
Asphalt. Pumpernickel. Iron
Andrew Siegrist, Asphalt Andrew Siegrist, Asphalt Pumpernickel Iron, asphalt pumpernickel siegrist, Asphalt siegrist, short fiction siegrist, short story siegristFiction by Andrew Siegrist The boy’s hands smelled like asphalt and the girl held them tight like she was afraid if the world kept spinning she’d lose her balance.
-
Small Talk
dyzak fiction, dyzak short fiction, dyzak short story, lance dyzak, small talk fiction, small talk short fiction, small talk short storyFiction by Lance Dyzak “You look good,” I said, “took care of yourself, seems like.” I meant it, too. There was a feeling of correctness, like finding the thread on a mason jar.