I would like to believe that when the heavy elevator doors slammed shut, separating me from my 81-year old parents at The Louvre, that it wasn’t a big deal. Except that it was. It was a really big deal, though I’m ...
Let’s Try Not to Get Separated Again by Liz Rose Shulman
LAR Online, Nonfiction
I.
The trick to cleaning up the lyrics of a song about sex, like Ariana Grande’s “Love Me Harder” is to swap the words and/or phrases about copulation for ones about singing. The family-friendly company that spells ...
Idolatree by Courtney Miller Santo
LAR Online, Nonfiction
When I think of my mother, when I try to see her in my mind, I can only see her hands. Though they must have been beautiful once, in my memory, her hands are gnarled roots.
They’re calloused and yellowed by tobacco, ...
Every Tree is a Mother, Every Mother a Tree by M Jaimie Zuckerman
LAR Online, Nonfiction
When a snake is coiled, she is ready to strike, though sometimes the coil is a defensive bluff, pure tactic, and she’s protecting herself, her soft vulnerable underbelly, from predators or threats, real and perceived, ...
Coiled by Ana Maria Spagna
LAR Online, Nonfiction
When in major chronic illness flare-ups or activated trauma states or brain fog arising for any number of reasons, I sometimes gain a stutter. Because of childhood trauma, I also have historically not been fantastic at ...
Stutter, Stammer, Stumble: On (Not) “Speaking Well” by heidi andrea restrepo rhodes
Nonfiction, Uncategorized
A narrow winding creek cuts through flat plains of sagebrush. Slender elms line the banks beneath granite cliffs still topped with snow in summer. The term “American Alps” gets thrown around about this place but ...
Heber by Kent Quaney
Nonfiction
Step 1:
Look down. It isn't. It is. View the absence. The dead space before realization. All the hands to mouths, eyes crowning, light like a holy orifice breaking open to speak what you've done. Look at your ...
How to Stop What Could be Born Inside of You by Maisie Williams
Nonfiction
So, this is just college, says M, age 11. It is, I say, looking around at what I look around at all the time, especially the space where the historic sycamore used to be. All the ghosts, probably.
I can’t say I have ...
Votive by Mary Ann Samyn
Nonfiction
In the kitchen, your father mans the video camera. He takes aim at your big brother, the corners of his mustache curling around his smirk. Your brother is five years old: milk chocolate eyes, flyaways fanning his ...
The Blanket by Katie Bannon
Nonfiction
