Category: Nonfiction

Old Friends

Rebecca Weil He was there all night in his gray donkey self, standing beside the covered body of his friend while the snow fell. Coyotes yipped from the hills but stayed back. Deer came through, and...

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Half-lives of empathy

Somi Jun 2024 Nonfiction Spring Contest Runner Up We are given the book Sadako and the Thousand Paper Cranes. The teacher reads the story aloud to us, chapter by chapter, on the floor of a large...

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Hanged/drawn/quartered, or, imagining my great-grandmothers’ hands on a Sunday morning, in four parts

jade guthrie I. Sybil (Sue-Ho) My great-grandmother Sybil hands each of her children £2 and watches them skip down the road, newly armed with the pocket money to spend on sweets and comic books to...

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The Lyric Ear

Megan J. Arlett 2024 Nonfiction Spring Contest Winner As a child during The Blitz, my grandfather clambered over the debris of collapsed houses in Gravesend, Kent. He hit capsules of dynamite with a...

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Teacher Bird: or Meditations on Phoebe

Alison Granucci When out of the great cosmos of all creation a bird arrives as the new shape of your mother returning from the dead, tell me, what does it not have to teach about the nature...

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In Martinsville (2021)

Chanlee Luu a church on nearly every block: Baptist, Catholic, Presbyterian, Methodist, Evangelical. She doesn’t know the difference; what she does remember is the Bible quotes inserted—editing...

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Robert de Niro

Phoebe Phelps I fell in love when I was twenty-nine and he was thirty-two, a respectable age difference. Preferable, actually, because they say men mature more slowly than women. And just in time...

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Jealousies

Hope Henderson 1.   I keep your memories, or shadows of your memories. Memories once removed. I remember, for instance, the woman you loved before me, the one I never met: her hair blond and damp in...

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With Teeth

Sam Paul My mother is screaming and crying on the phone. Her voice shakes with rage.  “You’d be so pretty if you’d fix your teeth,” she stammers. “But you don’t care about being...

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On Rotting

Keene Short Halfway up the hill, I smell it before I see it, before I hear the wasps and flies. Paint-stain fresh, mildew wine, an aftertaste of cherry bile. The smell pools where the path arcs and...

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