Here’s something you might not actually know: Abbey Road is just an ordinary road. Surprising, given the notoriety of that irreverent Beatles album cover of the same name.
Crossing Abbey Road by Laurie Baker
Category: Issues
With Dogs as My Shepherd by Corinne Heyning Laverty
No dogs allowed. John said they would eat his tortoises. My husband was a whale biologist and many of the former residents of our California beach bungalow reflected this interest.
Chewing Gardens by Mary Lide
I chew the collars of my shirts until they’re ragged as my fingernails. This drives my mother crazier than when I used to chew my hair, which tasted like peppermint despite the fact that I did not use peppermint shampoo.
Blue Rider by Lisa Baird
It begins in the dark of day. It begins with the turn of a key, a familiar road. The commute, the commute of years, begins without fanfare, without manifesto.
Abol Bridge by David Young
“Bobby, it’s me. We hear that you… ran into some difficulty yesterday.” A bit of an understatement, considering he collapsed on the trail and was carried out by a rescue team, but it’s what comes from my mouth.
Build and Build and Build Again by Ronnie K. Stephens
Here is a town that has learned from its history; a town that does not fight the mountain, does not fight the river. The mine shaft opens its mouth. Holds two bodies in its teeth until they are wet and blue and soft. Come back.
A Journey Back by Dorothy Hom
…trays of freshly baked goods—roast pork buns, steamed sponge cakes, buns filled with crème—beckon behind scratched-up glass. I’ve eaten these treats since I was a kid.
Universe by Linda Dunlavy
We’re in the forest looking for acorn shells, because they make good bathtubs for the fairies. I have only one daughter, and she thinks a pinecone would be a good hiding place – fairies like to play hide-and-seek.
Take Arms by Matt W Miller
I know as well as anyone the ridiculous, bread and circuses fascination America has with sports but sometimes I just get sucked into its narrative, just like people do with afternoon soaps, teenage vampires, or reality “talent” shows.
String Theory by Lisa Rivero
The ball of string fits reassuringly in my hand, smaller than a softball but just bigger than a baseball. Its perfect sphericity seems impossible against my palm, testament to the care and diligence with which it was wound.
