ESSAYS
Pickled Tongues
by Rachel Sussman
We were eleven the year the boy with the good hair drew my name in the holiday gift exchange. He grinned from ear-to-ear. He knew just the thing, he said.
DO NOT ALLOW
by Diane Zinna
She cannot bear that her daughter has seen her panic, scream out, and slap her own face. She wants to cover her girl with kisses and assure her that Mommy is okay, that these tides pass, that she would never hurt herself, and she’d never hurt her.
Talk Shit
by Toni Kochensparger
I have this thing where I believe in fate because mistakes are guaranteed. By definition, they’re totally unavoidable. By definition, they’re impossible to predict, but they will happen. And so, there’s this little unreadable map of all your mistakes laid out on the table in front of you, just out of sight, demanding various responses and reactions from you as you age—steering you, truly. Leading you on a path until the end.
That’s a long way of saying two of my best friends fucked each other and now none of us hang out anymore.
imani is black for faith
by jamilla vandyke-bailey
imani is thinning out, shedding the childish pudge of single digit age, and it shows in the vibrant flush of her umber-toned skin. her thick senegalese twists, healthy and heavy with oil bounce as she speaks. and she’s always speaking. and when she does, her eyes are full of laughter, and her voice is full of light. it is middle school, you’re empty with jealousy and she is beautiful.
Woodsmoke
by Susheila Khera
A black smudge is slowly creeping across the flat blue sky and coming into view through the ICU waiting room window. It’s twenty below zero and a brilliant day in February in Fairbanks, Alaska. The snow covering the ground has crystallized into a thick blanket of frost, each flake sparkling like an icy version of the lacy paper cutouts made in school and taped to the classroom window. Thin and delicate, they would melt within seconds on bare skin. Throw a handful into the air and it lands with the tinkle of glass.
Wayfinding
by Susheila Khera
Running was relaxing, meditative, refreshing. Back then, I didn’t have a watch and my flip phone didn’t have GPS, so I don’t know how many miles I ultimately ran, probably around seven. After each exercise, I marveled at my endurance and pushed myself to go further and longer the next time.
I Ruined His Weekend
by Hannah Harlee
My family gathers to accompany me on my court date. I want to clutch one of their arms with both hands, but the gravity of the situation forces me to stand alone. If I get too close to someone who loves me, I’ll collapse right into them. If I stop holding myself up now, I won’t be able to stand again.