By Jackie Davis Martin
It was the summer California was drying up and burning down and we all talked about sparing water and sparing air. Lawns turned to hay and cars remained grit-coated.


By Ruth Corkill
When there is no wind I imagine that I am at Lake Bled with Pasha. The water is so flat and still. Pasha stands naked apart from his water wings.

Touch Me

By Kim Chinquee
These days, I sleep lopsided in the bed, made up with my Egyptian cotton sheets that I bought with my guy from Target. For a long time I had no one but my son and men in short installments.

Kim Chinquee: Flash as Little Gems

Kim Chinquee has lived all over and done many things, from farming as a child to a career as a military medical technologist. Then she took one creative writing class and a new course was set.

Photo Story: Comrades

By Tom Conlon
Aunt Enid did not look like the rest of us, although she bore the slightest resemblance to Aunt Grace. Inevitable, I suspected, for two women who lived together their entire lives...

Blood Oranges

By Dallas Crow
If I painted, I would have a blood orange period to rival Picasso’s blue period. I’d spend years teasing out the infinite variety of their marbled blushings...

Three Stories by Cornelia Nixon

By Cornelia Nixon
He strutted into a grad-student party at midnight, everyone dancing, me the baby professor they could see right through, in a proper skirt, after a deadly faculty dinner.


By Gloria Frym
Clear air turbulence over the Sierra Nevada nearly overcomes the metallic bird three times. The cabin rattles with unvoiced thought: our children orphaned.

For Lucio

By Jesse Morales
At the bar, on its brick-shaped patio where honeybees mated in the trash bins, I contradicted you on Josef Albers’ theories of color. My first word to you: no.

Photo Story: A Bolder Life

By John Evans
This is how I remember it, what I saw from my window my first night as an orphan. Two trees, backlit by a low-slung moon, took turnabout gesturing at one another.

Drive Fast, Take Chances

By Tom Hazuka
Fitz threw a good party. I only left because I never linger till the downside of anything. I was nearly to my car when Fitz yelled, “Drive fast, take chances!”


By Lisa Mangini
Mabel positions wood over the glowing newsprint ashes, and blows until they catch. Stephen flings a folded-up greeting card with hearts and glitter into the flames, a plastic bottle of scotch, half-gone, passing between them.