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I’m the one who was so desperate for a dog that I sat on the wood floor of our living room, hour after hour, week after week, and memorized the dog section of the encyclopedia.
By Esther EhrlichFebruary 2022Going natural, looking professional, shaving it all off
By Our ReadersFebruary 2022“Hi, it’s just me.” This might be the only phrase I know for sure / was on the years of messages the phone company erased / when they — inexplicably — changed my number. / The messages are gone, but the grief is still there, / ripe, a fullness I’m glad I possess. We think we want grief / to pass, but what would I do if it were gone, / like the messages, irretrievable?
By Jane HilberryFebruary 2022I counted because I had told myself that if the count was right, my mother would be spared. My father would not die. My older sister, Jeanne, would make it to high school. But only if I kept the count.
By Gary PercesepeFebruary 2022Six weeks ago my wife walked into our living room to find me curled up on the couch, sobbing. In our twenty-one years of marriage we had experienced a lot of griefs, big and little, but she’d never seen me cry like this.
By Lisa DordalJanuary 2022Lovely things, the railings. When it’s raining just right — half raining, the way it so often does here — the spiderwebs spun across the rails collect mist and shine, so that the Corrib looks like it’s swathed in sequined cloth.
By Mohan FitzgeraldJanuary 2022No one would admit that they’d stolen my phone, so Manager threatened to call a juju priest to settle the issue spiritually.
By Blessing J. ChristopherJanuary 2022Collecting bottles, tossing leftovers, taking out the garbage
By Our ReadersJanuary 2022This time my mother got it all right. / The year, the month, and the day. / The president’s name. Where she’s staying. / So she thinks she’s going home. / When I stop by the rehab center, she tells me / to make sure the heat’s turned up, / the cable switched on again, fresh / milk in the fridge.
By John BargowskiJanuary 2022I understand that though it was not my choice to listen to the Jackson 5 during the procedure, I will now think of their seminal hits every time I smell isopropyl alcohol in my vicinity.
By Hanna BartelsJanuary 2022Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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