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After barre, Mme. Francesca follows me to the locker room and tells me I’m officially going to the Cupids dance program this summer and I just can’t stand it.
By Alysandra DuttonJuly 2020A trip with a stranger, a roadside rescue, a missing husband
By Our ReadersMay 2020An unplanned pregnancy, a twisted ankle, a case of dynamite
By Our ReadersApril 2020Along the shoreline, through a neighbor’s yard, in a back alley
By Our ReadersMarch 2020MARK HOHN, a handwritten sign said. DEC. 19, 2013. 17 YRS. Here’s what struck me like a bus. It happened to be Dec. 19. He’d died exactly two years earlier. I sat on the ground before the cross and told myself to pay attention, that this was no coincidence.
By Maria BlackMarch 2020There were signs, I suppose. First she stopped lining up with the other kids for ice-cream sandwiches and chocolate bars. No dessert, she said.
By Marion WinikJanuary 2020I want to be excused, at least this once, / from being me, and be instead someone / who sees daily things as miracles
By Owen McLeodDecember 2019Conspicuous consumption, retail therapy, a botched makeover
By Our ReadersNovember 2019What was astonishing / was that after a summer of running around the yard / and dragging our rubber dinghy a mile to the lake and rowing / and doing backflips off the dinghy and bicycling around the lake
By Elizabeth PolinerOctober 2019I was still exploring my power to hurt others and was continually surprised by how potent a single sentence could be. I watched my mother’s face waver and then crack open.
By Becky MandelbaumOctober 2019Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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