Issue 555 | The Sun Magazine

March 2022

Readers Write

Being Stubborn

In a marriage, in a divorce, on a pilgrimage

By Our Readers
The Dog-Eared Page

Riding Out At Evening

At dusk, everything blurs and softens. / From here out over the long valley, / the fields and hills pull up / the first slight sheets of evening, / as, over the next hour,  / heavier, darker ones will follow.

By Linda McCarriston
Quotations

Sunbeams

It is a curious situation that the sea, from which life first arose, should now be threatened by the activities of one form of that life. But the sea, though changed in a sinister way, will continue to exist; the threat is rather to life itself.

Rachel Carson

The Sun Interview

Something In The Water

Robert Bilott On Corporate Greed And Chemical Contamination

The cows were getting sick and wasting away. They were developing tumors. Their teeth were turning black. Calves were stillborn or born with cloudy or deformed eyes.

By Tracy Frisch
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Ocean City

I’d never been taught how to say no to an adult — nor even to consider the possibility that it might be necessary to do so.

By Mark Brazaitis
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Culled

It was too quiet: no bellowing of elk, no call of owls. As I opened the front door, I could smell the beef stew I’d left simmering on the stove, but there was no music, and our dog Neva did not greet me.

By Teetle Clawson
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Bearing Pall

I didn’t know whether Grandpa knew that I knew. “My dad told me,” I said. “I’m sorry.” Grandpa got misty, then nodded and said, “He’d had enough.” To this day I believe this is the most empathetic way to understand suicide.

By John Frank
Essays, Memoirs, & True Stories

Kong

I didn’t see my father die, but I know there were no planes, no guns, no crowd of onlookers below. I imagine that, like Kong, he closed his eyes easy.

By Nicholas Dighiera
Fiction

Sometimes Things Just Don’t

We always went to Dancing Pins because it was cheap and we could spend all day there, easy, no complaints. We’d go when our mom was drunk and didn’t have anyone to sleep with. She brought her own vodka in a paper bag, like it wasn’t obvious.

By Sara Luzuriaga
Photography

A Thousand Words

March 2022

A new feature in the magazine, A Thousand Words features photography so rich with narrative that it tells a story all on its own.

Photograph By Ángel J. Sánchez