by Rick Kempa
Relax: no one can see you here. The dogleg of this dead end alley between the two wings of the school building will hide you. Place your right . . .
by Paul Crenshaw
In the late 70s, around the time President Carter was negotiating the SALT II Treaty with the Soviet Union, my parents’ marriage . . .
by Jeffrey Hammond
One snowy afternoon in early January when I was eight or nine, my sister and I were lying on the living room floor playing checkers. For good luck I was clutching a prized possession . . .
by Megan Harlan
We’re treasure-hunting again in the open desert of Saudi Arabia’s Eastern Province. This being my family . . .
by Ana Maria Spagna
Each summer, while we moved heavy rocks or sawed suspended logs or cleared head-high stinging nettles, Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers . . .
by Kathleen de Azevedo
During a break from rehearsal, a group of male actors heads out to take a pee in the back yard. Another actor, Keita, breaks his Ramadan fast with a burrito . . .
by Sean Prentiss
What I Learn About the City
during the Pause between
Dusk & Dark
Some wilderness evenings when the moon is a sliver bowl pouring out its first drink of constellations
by Tom Leskiw
I believe in rebirth because I’ve experienced it with all six of my senses. I’ve seen Chinook salmon return . . .
by Jim Krosschell
Every once in a while, say a couple of times a month, I approach the far end of my daily walk . . .
by Mel Livatino
Forty years ago, in the midst of casual conversation, I asked a woman if she played golf. For answer she looked at me as if I were . . .
by Linda Mackillop
The note appears hooked to the knob of my front door, a warning. The emerald ash borer disease has ravaged the hundred-year-old stately ash trees . . .
by Miriam Mandel Levi
The graph of my hearing ability sloped like the neck of a giraffe. I’m a speech language pathologist and I’d seen enough audiograms in my career to know what that meant. I could hear . . .
by Cindy Bradley
Although I have little memory of it, I came down with scarlet fever when I was five. What I do remember are snatches of images: my year-younger brother sitting . . .
by Alex M. Frankel
I was twenty-three–a Columbia graduate, a proofreader in an accounting firm–leafing through the Atlantic in a dermatologist’s waiting room . . .
by Joan Connor
As I am aging I note that my memory is changing. No, I am not becoming more forgetful, rather I am remembering differently, compulsively; I am remembering more . . .
by Kirie Pedersen
“Ted got Brenda,” my sister said. “What are you talking about?” Lisa is usually placid and calm. Now she sounded terrified. “Brenda who?” “Brenda Ball. Ted got her. They found her body . . .
by John Nizalowski
I could see it from my front yard, down there on the river bank where the land was flat and smooth and lined with cottonwoods. The Ferris Wheel, a great mandela . . .
by Paul Warmbier
We stood as small knots and discussed what should happen next. The night coolness descended on us like a blanket of moisture. Molecules of hydrogen and oxygen quilted together . . .