Ed Hopper Train Painting

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You Are What You Eat

By Barbara Diggs

so I know you are eggs. Sunny side up, salmonella-scrambled, salsa-slathered, over-hard yellow-white discs fried in bacon grease until the edges curl like wispy brown lace. Your dad was the original egg man, eating five every day, insisting you ate at least three. One slurry night on somebody’s basement couch, you mumbled into my neck…


By Kelly Ann Jacobson

The third store we visit has been raided. The shelves are like rows of gapped teeth—missing flashlights, missing batteries, missing fans, missing gallon jugs of water. Our list is a prayer in your clasped hands. “What about candles?” you ask, and the nervous girl hanging lighters on the endcap takes us through the aisles to…


By Ruth Joffre

I used to tell people that my first kiss was on a December night, under a pine tree, when a boy I sort-of liked kissed me after a dance recital; but actually my first kiss was older, and with a woman. In this memory, I’m twelve (it’s seventh grade), and I wake up one day…

Girl Woman | Woodsman Wolf

By Joshua Jones Lofflin

Here is what you’ll bring to grandmother’s house:

Beach Tree

By Amy DeBellis

I know something is wrong when the spot in the corner of my right eye won’t go away. I was hit until I saw stars, years ago and not by you, but this is different: this isn’t a star but a fuzzy gray cloud. Whenever I read, it floats along with me on each line,…

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