The first time I cooked rice by myself, at five years old, I burned it to a tarry blackness.
The Gradual Extinction of Softness by Chantha Nguon with Kim Green
Category: Essays
A Darkness to Slice Through: A Night With my Grandfather by Gary Smothers
Every house on this street — boxy and small — is exactly the same….
Last Shot by Joey Garcia
Clyde angles his muscular shoulder in front of mine, forcing me to stop and let him push the gym door open…
You People by Karen Green
I hold the green plastic basket like a blockade between us. I won’t reach out. We’re not allowed to touch….
Farm Road 1623 by Hannah Smothers
I’m taking the long way to Austin…cutting northwest up 71, a highway so beautiful there’s a whole song about it….
Access by Kathryn Fitzpatrick
The first time I didn’t belong, I was enrolled in a summer program at Monkey Business Children’s Gym.
Little House in the Redwoods by Sherry Shahan
In 1959, Daddy drives a short-bed pickup. I’m 10 years old, barely a head above the door handle.
Lake of the Ozarks, Osage Beach, Missouri by Dawn-Michelle Baude
“Left at the fork.” He wasn’t talking to me. He was trying to remember which way to go.
A Very Good Liar by Erin Branning
My mother is home from the hospital after being sick, and I want to stay close to her.
Swimming Pool Blues by Brian Koukol
The chain-link gate behind me squealed and my dad appeared at my side, stinking of chlorine.
