Category: 19.1

  • Alligator Fight

    by Ariel Herbert We were the kind of girlsthat brought a bat to prom,smoked cigarettes in the parking lot,sequined party dresses cutabove the knee, trim calves burstingfrom black heels, curls fallingflat in the humidity,the kind of girls that shotgunned beers,belched reapplying our lipstick,popped in a peppermint to walkpast the vice principal and into the disco […]

  • There was a boy: Vermiform

    by Nathan Dixon I. There was a boy at my mother’s junior high school, which would become my own middle school, a boy whose parents were Christian Scientists. Which made him a Christian Scientist. In the ongoing discussions around consent, we tend to leave the children out. Because I said so. The favorite phrase of […]

  • Burning a Life: A Memoir of Smoking

    Burning a Life: A Memoir of Smoking

    by Kate Brandt My first writing teacher, Tom Spanbauer, spoke a truth I’ve always remembered: When we write, he said, we are burning a life. This is the story of ten years that changed me forever. It starts with a lit cigarette, and the story burns from there. Fall 1974: First Drag In 1974 I […]

  • This is All that Matters

    This is All that Matters

    by Amy Kiger-Wiliams My father is having seizures in his hospital bed. The white sheet is drawn up to his mid-chest, his tongue is hanging out the side of his mouth, and his hands and arms are twitching violently atop the sheet. He looks like he might be connected to an electrical current, but the […]

  • Apple Pie

    Apple Pie

    by Lizzie Lawson The church kitchen. I’m at the rolling table surrounded by Catholic women my grandmother’s age. They peel and mix and roll and crimp. I flatten greasy dough into circles and throw them over open pies heaped with spiced apples and thick pats of butter. “Sometimes it feels good just to sit,” a […]

  • I love you

    I love you

    by Yen Ha It bothers her when her daughter jokes about how she never says the words I love you, first because she doesn’t speak English with her daughter, but also because she’s told her daughter many times over that her own parents never said I love you, not once in the forty years of […]

  • Marie Antionette Awaits the Guillotine

    Marie Antionette Awaits the Guillotine

    by Aleyna Rentz We are going to get better. Our yoga mats and workbooks and whispered mantras are going to fit like plaster into our broken places. There are nine of us, all girls, all survivors of our own secret traumas, sitting in a semicircle at the front of the university chapel, a long room […]

  • Small Rodents and Other Unwanted Things

    by Heather Debel At night, we hear mice scratching in the walls, soft like they are sharing a secret. We feel the mice moving around us, hear their nails scuff across the rafters. The house is alive—little vibrations, fingers on a waxed car, door hinges. Liz thinks they are playing with her, some game of […]