Iftar by Sascha Matuszak I walk alone through the streets listening to spoons and voices. It is iftar time, and I am racing the light down to the beach, where I hope to find my brothers. The music of spoons on dishes is a mercy from God, for without it I’d lose my...
Star Crossed by Maura Stanton The recycle center turned out to be a huge warehouse at the edge of town. As my purchaser walked with me to the office, I noticed big metal bins full of robot parts. One bin seemed to be all heads, hundreds of heads, maybe thousands, some...
Nested Skins by Ben Reed Roger and I were at the beach when the fog came in. We had just finished eating. Everyone on the sand stopped what they were doing to marvel at the density and opacity of the fog, and how quickly the white mist rolled toward us over the water....
Our Squid Mother by E. Ce Miller Our little sister made the discovery that summer. It wasn’t surprising that she would be the first to find out—the only one of us who still climbed into our mother’s lap like Ma was a piece of furniture instead of a woman,...
Black Walnut Is the War Tree by Laura Da’ War Camps To track well is to identify patterns by their impressions: walk, trot, scamper, lope, drag, leap, gallop, bound. Each gait tells the story of its prey in a narrative of evasion. To hunt well one must be both...
