Peanut hands me three white pills. She says it will help. She says better than nothing. … she says this is my needle, don’t set yours down, I got AIDS.
Where Do You Go From Alston Street? by Kat Moore
Holiness of a Garden by Amanda Lightner
A few months after our wedding, Trevor and I moved to a small, red brick parsonage beside a small, red brick church built in 1873.
Inheritance by J.L. Cooper
By the time I was eight, I’d come to know of a cigar box my father kept in our garage, filled to the top with various nuts and bolts, washers, grommets, and screws.
Lesson Plans by Anita Gill
On your first day in your new job as an adjunct professor, give out an assignment. Call it a diagnostic essay.
Auteur by Lynne Nugent
I point my cameraphone at the boy who is chasing a pair of robins across the park with his newly minted stagger-walk. The robins, unconcerned, barely rouse themselves to fly a few yards away…
Lighting of the Figures by Emily Urness
She flings open my bedroom door with so much gusto it rattles the hinges. This is the first time since I’ve moved back that she hasn’t knocked.
Without You by Milena Nigam
In 1982, my parents divorce, and my mom, sister, and I move to a small house in West Concord, at the time a working class town twenty miles west of Boston. I am eight years old.
Review: Bookbinder’s Daughter: A Life Lost and Found by Judith A. Fisher
At 15, Judith A. Fisher began stealing her mother’s painkillers. One night, feeling particularly unloved by her parents, she leaves a note and swallows the pills, waking up later in the hospital
AWP 16: Hippocampus Headed to LA
For those headed to Los Angeles for AWP, stop by Table 118 and say hello to the Hippocampus Magazine gang.
They Had Three Daughters by Andrea Della Monica
Italian grandmothers certainly did not smoke. They cooked elaborate meals on Sundays. … Smoking was for gin mills, not ladies in house dresses.
