Rolling

By Dzvinia Orlowsky
Late August, a cat rolling in mown grass flips to its back again, then to its feet, half sun-drunk, half whiplash tail. I am loved. Not. Am.

Passing Lane

By M.J. Iuppa
Sally was the twin who took chances. A cherry-lipped brunette with a Louise Brook’s bob, she turned heads in traffic.

Photo Story: The Abominable

By Michael Snyder
Lucy could bend even the smallest rays of light to her will. She created her own humidity, burrowed deep, and made dormant things grow.

Sweetie Pie

By Sherrie Flick
I started calling both my dog and husband Sweetie Pie the same year my husband found my lover’s cashmere sock.

Salient Sounds

By Connor Walsh
Back when I was young enough to invent and trust in my own Boy Scout knot, I tied a tape-recorder to a turtle’s shell and set it free.

Invite Him In, Ask For Help

By Simon Jimenez
The zipper began at the nape of her neck. With thumb and forefinger, he pulled, slow, drawing out the sound of the unraveling of caught teeth.

Great Composers of the American Popular Song

By Lina Chern
A window opens on a forest: trees, moonlight, a path. You’ve been here before: the knot in a pine becomes a long-lost face, the veil of leaves a scarf of blue silk.

The Evergreen

By Tara Ramsey
Hannah's motorcycle fishtails on wet pavement before she goes down. This is it.

Descent

By Levi Andrew Noe
I tried to teach you how to shoot a spitwad. How to find the right shooter, just the right diameter.

Deep Blue

By Patricia O'Donnell
A farmer in Iowa continued farming well into his 80s. He drove his air-conditioned tractor ten hours a day, even when there was nothing to till, nothing to plow, nothing to disc or harrow or plant.

Photo Story: Cutting Lines

By Kathryn Pallant
It was her father’s favorite station: polished marble, vaulted ceiling, windows straight from a mansion house. Just like the best library he ever went to, but never had time for until the end.

The Life & Times of Minor Characters

By Gretchen Tessmer
Mary Ann had a thrilling day planned—wash basin full of dirty dishes, assorted soap-making and two dozen rabbit-sized waistcoats to iron out.

Diggers

By Amy Lafferty
In summertime we look for things buried in the clay. Our parents call us, but we lose their voices by digging deeper.

Lilly (My One and Only)

By Kaj Tanaka
—sunset like the head of that grotesque peeping tom you told me about the night I understood we would never belong together...

Photo Story: This is Where We Are, Now

By Colin Lubner
Years after our planes stopped marking white x’s and asterisks across our blue sky (well, years after our sky stopped being blue at all) and years after our graves stopped staying graves ...

My Daughter’s Hands

By TJ Wood
They once drew from four strings Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E minor. Her arms danced about mahogany stained pine as partners, pulling to and fro.

Under The Shells

By Kayleigh Shoen
After the bomb scare, the high school snapped transparent knapsacks to students’ backs like inside-out turtle shells.

Photo Story: The Locker

By Hoffi Munt
We rent locker space the way our parents rent houses. They are our sliver of space in this public world; a place to store, to fill, to hide.

Gladys

By Alek Barkats
When I walk into the office an exotic bird’s at my desk, typing away. It lifts its talons off the keys, turns its green head. Coffee in the pot!

Cassiopeia

By Jacqueline Doyle
He made his move in the planetarium. She’d been gazing up at the outlines of Cassiopeia in the night sky, squinting to see a queen on a throne.