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In 1976, the year we were supposed to be learning the metric system, we fell in love with Katy Muldoon. We were in the sixth grade, and Katy sat at the front of our math class, raising her hand for every question, as though all of the answers to all of the problems were merely floating in front of her eyes.
By John McNallyJuly 2014If we were both / hanging from a cliff / by one hand / you’d tell me how scary / it was to be hanging / from a cliff / by one hand
By David Allan CatesMarch 2014This is how it works when times are hard, and even when times are better, if we’re lucky. We women stand on the sidewalk and rest our backs against fences and lean into open car windows to see who needs what. In my twenty-five years living on this block, there have been recessions before, but this one has lasted the longest.
By Susan StraightJanuary 2014The first transformer blew in the middle of the night. I opened my eyes to sparks flying over the ice-coated trees like fireworks. I made it to the window first, James close behind me, hopping awkwardly.
By Jennifer MurvinJanuary 2014The names are all typed on the coach’s old typewriter which screws up the letter y so it looks more like w so you check again from the top looking for Dowle, Brian and then you check again reading up from the bottom this time just in case some weird thing happened because you wear thick spectacles and the gym door has this thick old shimmery glass and maybe the two densities of glass cancel each other out or something.
By Brian DoyleNovember 2013— from “With That Moon Language” | Admit something: Everyone you see, you say to / them, “Love me.” / Of course you do not do this out loud, otherwise / someone would call the cops.
By Daniel Ladinsky, HafizOctober 2013We walked the city after dark, talking / about the things that mattered to us then: / the most vivid ways to live, how to keep the fire / ablaze inside; the girls we’d loved, the women / we’d meet someday.
By Michael HettichJune 2013When he noticed four teenage kids from the Mission School / lugging boxes out of her house, he phoned her / — his neighbor just up the road — & she told him / that escrow had closed a week early: she’d be gone / by late afternoon.
By Steve KowitMay 2013When I pull up to my house after work, my friend Eppie is standing in the middle of our shared driveway, clutching her green canvas shopping bag. Her face shows relief and then worry as I get out of my car. “I hate to bother you,” she says, “but would you mind taking me home?”
By Mally Z. RayApril 2013Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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