Elaina Edwards Bluestems tangled in the chainlink fence where a clay red coyote hung quietly. This is a warning, mom said, and I nodded. She was doing better. Adjusting to the harsh chemicals and...
Madie Barone “And there is, for me, no difference between writing a good poem and moving into sunlight against the body of a woman I love.” Audre Lorde the whole...
Alexandra Clemente Perez Carola looks through the windshield of her golden Corolla. There is a green Chevy pick-up staring straight at her. My mother Carola, my husband, and I are on one end; our...
Nafisa Nazir A lifetime of broken plates and bruised knuckles will chase you out of your cradle before the typhoon does. I don’t remember the day I left well, only all that came after. I remember...
Julia Talen Julia Kooi Talen is an essayist and poet based in the midwest where she teaches creative writing and composition. Currently a PhD candidate in creative writing, Talen lives with their...
M.J. Young Every night I cross a bridge. Every night I cross myself & ask to be forgiven for what I have & haven’t done. Father, Father, Father. My first confession was at eight& I...
Chey Dugan Content Warning: This story contains depictions of and discusses the following sensitive topics: death/dying. In the parking lot of Thrive & Blossom, I scratched the stubble on my neck...
Lizzy Ke Polishan peels. My father was a hoe and my mother was a rake. My brother, a fishbone; my sister, a crushed egg. I loved the dirt so much I turned it into my shoes. I loved...
Kate Kadleck Remember when we named ourselves after condiments? When you licked the lamppost in front of my house? I can’t, for the life of me, recall whether (and if so, for how long) your...
Annabel Li On the dirt-beige sofa, Dad lies across the crooks of cushions like an em-dash, surrounded by a Jenga of student theses and chemical engineering textbooks, a royal blue cookie tin holding...