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HAPPINESS : ALLEYWAY
We wandered here from Harvard Square. With each step, we moved inward. Contented. Centered. We had shared ice cream from J.P Licks just steps before. Coffee mocha lingering on our tongues. We had eaten...
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UP : RODNEY'S
The stairs lead up. I pause. Stand in the sun shining down through the skylight. I am in the hallway long enough that the man at the desk behind me clears his throat. Can I help you? I do not turn...
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When In A Fit Environment For Man
The rain was so heavy we had to pull off the highway. We inched along the exit ramp, following the taillights of the semi trailer truck before us, rain pelting the roof and hood of the car with a...
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Everything That's Transitory Is But A Metaphorical Reference
1.We are on the ground when it happens. The Minneapolis, Saint Paul International Airport. The tarmac is wet and slick. Ice patches and quilts the pavement that hasn't yet been touched by the...
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Le Chien, by Melanie Faith
I. Le Woof-Woof:I crouched on the cobblestones, a bright fuchsia bougainvillea shrub and scuba-gear store at my back. Framing the dog’s expressive face across the street at the café, I silently willed...
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Confirmations
One of my most impressionable memories of church is of the morning I accidentally stapled my hand in Sunday school. The staple's legs didn't fold under they way they did when I pressed down hard,...
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Home All Day, by Stephanie Wilbur Ash
My neighbor Charlene asked me to take a photo of her. It was so her dear husband could have one for his desk at work. She said it was part of their therapy. They are those kind of people, the kind who...
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Collective Bargaining, by Jay Robinson
1. IntersectionEconomy, she told him, is synonymous with evanescence. At the intersection of Main Street and Liberty, four blocks from their apartment, nothing behind their reflection in the window...
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The Naming of Things
We walk slowly. Buying time. The studio is not far from here.We are huddled close under one umbrella, shoulder against shoulder, hands stacked one on top of the other, gripping the handle. Rain is...
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Two Girls For Every Boy, by Mary Biddinger
They lied to you, and they lied to me, and they lied to the store clerk that nobody needed a gun around there, to every housewife in a long skirt who lingered too long at the front window, not checking...
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How Queen Saowapha Holds a Snake, by Jennifer Marcus Newton
From the moment we emerge from the cool dark of the Atlanta Hotel into the dead end of Soi 2 Sukhumvit Road, we are soaked—first from the heat and humidity, and then from the sudden downpour that...
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Intersections
I walk gingerly along the catwalk. The boards bend and sway beneath my feet with each step. I move along the edge of the boat, the smell of varnish heavy in the air."Careful not to raise any dust,"...
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Dhonai Tells a Story, by Nitoo Das
It is best not to look at the crow now. With its five-fingered blast of wing, it can summon you into the geometric trickery of trident, cross and circle. And then, there is no escape. It is best not to...
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Disruption of Memory, by Stephanie Cornell
“I told him four times already.”“He doesn’t remember anything,” said my mother. “It’s from his accident.” Of course. The accident. I had missed so much in two years.“Oh, did he hit his head when he...
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The Doe, by David Ryan
Somewhere along the drive home it occurred to Wayne that science had rendered sixty the new middle age — or would, by the time he reached a-hundred-and-ten. He knew, too, that this improvised errand...
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Gabriel, by Deborah Poe
Gabriel looked down at his hands. They were gnarled and scarred. He began to mentally compare his hands to Nora’s but stopped himself. Not a living thing moved in this mammoth building, except for him....
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Long After the Laughter, by Josh Gilb
The music swells, the lights come up. The floor rises from the dark, becomes solid. The emptiness around you fills with faces. ____________At the back of an old lot, through a hole in the fence, down a...
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Finding Balance
The wind crept into us off the ocean. We pulled our bodies around us tightly. We all shivered anyway. Despite our hats and scarves and sweaters. Despite the sun, the walking.We had been waiting...
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New Amsterdam, by Beth Harrison
This would have been the year I was born.There’s a photo, a different photo, of a man on a riding mower in a wide field, a bassinet nearby. That’s him, and that’s me.Beyond him, beyond us, is a pond....
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Something Like Forgiveness
What I will miss most of all, she said, setting down the tea, is his voice. He used to read while I cooked. Every day. She looked off into a corner of the room where she remembered his voice to be. I...
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