Issue 11 / Fall 2017 When I was fifteen, I met the mechanic. The plane touched down in Atlanta in July, and my hair was still windblown from the Colorado Rockies. My mother’s words echoed as I stepped onto the tarmac: I’m bringing someone with me. I saw him...
Issue 11 / Fall 2017 Finder’s keepers, loser’s weepers “Mommy, can I keep this?” asks six-year-old Simone. “Please.” She’s holding a scrap of apple-green wrapping paper with irregular-shaped red hearts suspended in air. It was left over from wrapping a...
Issue 10 / Summer 2017 I found my writing journal from 1986. This isn’t a remarkable discovery, except for the timing of finding it. I read to page four and stopped dead in my tracks. I’d written about my friend and neighbor, Elizabeth Skowran, or Liz as I knew...
Issue 10 / Summer 2017 Though I had known him for over forty years, I never really knew him. He was dying now in the hospice wing of the nursing home. A nurse sat at a desk by his side taking notes. She looked up from her clipboard, glanced at the clock, then...
Issue 10 / Summer 2017 For three years in the 1970s my father lived in Malawi in an abandoned fish warehouse that he converted into a home with the help of his friend Vaughan and a group of Malawian day laborers. He moved there to avoid conscription into the...
