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June 2020Diseases have no eyes. They pick with a dizzy finger anyone, just anyone.
Sandra Cisneros, The House on Mango Street
I can’t see the virus, but I feel its seeds in me. I can’t see my faith, but I feel its seeds in me, too.
By Heather SellersJune 2020An unplanned pregnancy, a twisted ankle, a case of dynamite
By Our ReadersApril 2020Facing the police, facing your parents, facing the truth
By Our ReadersFebruary 2020I thought tryouts went great. I played catcher, just catcher. You may ask, How solid was my receiving with that lingering double vision? Well, I’m happy to report that squatting behind the plate was a miracle cure.
By Mark GozonskyNovember 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 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 2019Upon arriving at the bungalow, he learned something else about himself: if there was a 5 percent chance that fucking his ex-wife’s hairdresser might kill him, he was perfectly willing to take that risk.
By Boomer PinchesAugust 2019Personal, political, provocative writing delivered to your doorstep every month—without a single ad.
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