The Cake Topper Problem

The Cake Topper Problem by Genevieve Creedon If you set aside the fact that I never wanted to get married, you might understand my love for cake toppers—not the black tux and white dress kind, but the LEGO minifigures, Monsters Inc. characters, Bert & Ernie varieties: what would you be if you could be anything?

[ ]

[                        ] by Shan Rao My grandmother was learning to die when I was born. Age 56 they say (maybe) no one can be sure, those records not kept carefully. [Lung cancer; cells spoiling.]. In my first memories, I am sitting on her silent

Day One

Day One by James Croal Jackson   Mocktails were the catalyst, but we drank greyhound cocktails to tales of your great-   grandfather, the activist who jumped in front of a bus at rush hour–   we didn’t rush the first night, long after Oddfellows, when I came   home into your arms the first

Arrival

Arrival by LindaAnn LoSchiavo Before my father stops hugging me, before he dries his frosted eyes, before he commandeers my suitcase, I know our agendas are beating different drums, his expectations clouded with denial. Before I arrange her medications, consign the complex sequences of patches, dosages, and Roxanol refills to a spreadsheet, before I gently

Observing this Body

Observing this Body by Luis Lopez-Maldonado   I sometimes can’t really feel feel, my feet the tingling sensation like the white noise on an 80’s TV, I sometimes find little marble-sized balls beneath my brown skin, I push on them, and they hurt   doctor says they aren’t cancerous they’re just fat and if they

Switchback

Switchback by Barbara Lawhorn   Rattlesnake Gulch. We switchbacked mid morning, up the sides of Eldorado Canyon. I was high on sunlight, elevation, lack of sleep. Far from home. Hung over from 16 hours in the car, an excess of joy-confusion, the six drinks with and after dinner. One shoulder kissed by carpet burn. We

Switchback

Switchback by Barbara Lawhorn   Rattlesnake Gulch. We switchbacked mid morning, up the sides of Eldorado Canyon. I was high on sunlight, elevation, lack of sleep. Far from home. Hung over from 16 hours in the car, an excess of joy-confusion, the six drinks with and after dinner. One shoulder kissed by carpet burn. We

INVISIBLE CITIES

INVISIBLE CITIES by Kenton K. Yee   A barkeep goes to her therapist, says: I can’t sleep—hypnotize me. So you do and take her   to Central Park and fall madly in love. She cuts tail    and you’re on your couch   rifling through web pages    pricing colonoscopies. It’s hopeless. You’re mediocre.    Your mother was