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late into california’s indian summer you climb / onto your father’s back wrap your arms around his neck / and slide into the depths of your grandmother’s / pool
By Brionne JanaeFebruary 2020The breakfast rush was hitting its peak when we learned about the dead woman lying not far from Table Four.
By Erin McReynoldsFebruary 2020Dad’s leftover stew, the kids’ Lunchables, coffee and pie with a friend
By Our ReadersJanuary 2020A detour in Samoa, an encounter in a bar, a snowfall in Colorado
By Our ReadersDecember 2019My friend Gina and I have a pact: Should either of us die unexpectedly, the other will retrieve the shoebox of sex toys hidden in the deceased’s closet.
By Jennifer BowenDecember 2019Conspicuous consumption, retail therapy, a botched makeover
By Our ReadersNovember 2019The first time he calls the talk line, it’s because he wants to die. Whatever has happened in his brain has made him a stranger to himself.
By Katherine SeligmanNovember 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 2019A commercial fisherman, a difficult pregnancy, a widowed father
By Our ReadersSeptember 2019Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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