On July 21, 1923, my maternal grandfather was born in a small fishing village in the Bay of Fundy. White Head, so named because of the array of white quartz at the head of the island…
A Geography of Grief by Sarah Kilch Gaffney
Category: September 2015
Words with the Hospital Chaplain by Asha Dore
I keep thinking about this word: bifurcates. It means to split, like the heart splits into different valves or the bronchi split into separate lungs.
Too Long Tea by Richard LeBlond
She waved her arm along a cabinet adjacent to the counter, filled with maybe 15 clear glass containers of loose tea, most with names I had never heard of.
Until Gwen by Tina Mortimer
The display flashed “Great workout!” and a sense of dread dug its claws deep in my belly. I stepped off the treadmill feeling like I was still moving, my heart doing that flutter thing again.
A Temporary Shelf-Life by Sean Gill
One day, as we were perusing the want-ads in the Village Voice, my sister remarked that in spite of four college degrees between us, neither was qualified to work a New York City car wash.
Tiny Baby’s Great Escape by Eric Day
When I was thirteen I wanted to be Steve McQueen in The Great Escape, acting alone and vexing the authorities, German or otherwise
Little Bitch Rising by Charlotte Gullick
It’d been almost two years since I’d moved to Colorado, two years since my father had laid eyes on me.
Eye Contact by James Knisely
You see these people everywhere, anywhere you may have to stop or slow down: the freeway entrance, the freeway exit, the on-ramp here, the off-ramp there. Everywhere.
Airplanes and Heartbreak by Julie Wiencek
I can’t do this for much longer, and by this, I mean you. The radiant silences and the incisive looks, avoiding your eyes, darting mine.
The Mother of Pentacles by Sarah Malley
One of the local newspaper pages that I like posted a link to their latest article, and I would have scrolled right past it if I hadn’t seen the word “Montvale.”
