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Parents

Readers Write

Holidays

Chinese New Year in Philadelphia, Thanksgiving in Mexico, Passover in prison

By Our Readers November 2020
Fiction

Debris

When Sarah’s mother, Penny, got sick four years into our marriage, we decided to move back to Mississippi, considering it penance for the sins of our youth. We signed a lease on a house, a white one-story on the historical register with a wraparound porch and angels, stars, and the moon painted on the transom above the front door.

By Terry Engel October 2020
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Sitting On My Mother

The scar in the turf in front of her headstone has long since healed. Her death date was blank at her funeral, reflecting our disbelief. It now reads, Sept. 11, 2010. Beside that is another blank for my father.

By Vincent Mowrey September 2020
Fiction

Blooming

You can hardly remember now how you would pull out the ribbons she weaved through your hair, launching them into the wind as you pedaled faster on your bike. You have left that girl behind. You believe in the power of ribbons and roses now. You are a woman.

By Tanya Rey September 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

Letter To My Father

Stride from the crowd to seize the president’s arm before another roll of paper towels sails away. Thunder Spanish obscenities in his face. Banish him to a roofless rainstorm in Utuado, so he unravels, one soaked sheet after another, till there is nothing left but his cardboard heart.

By Martín Espada September 2020
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

A Terrible Wind

I pretended to be busy on my computer until she leaned so close to me I had to sit back and look up. She had my attention now. She smiled with one side of her mouth. “That was my mom,” she said. “Fucking Wicked Witch of the West.”

By Joe Wilkins September 2020
Essays, Memoirs, and True Stories

Missing Ghosts

My father tells me about the ghosts. He tells me about lying on his stomach in a trench and falling asleep and hearing the voice of a friend who had just been killed shouting, “Brina, look out!”

By Elizabeth Miki Brina September 2020
Fiction

White Folks

I was working in the yard, raking out the sunny patch where I plant tomatoes and cucumbers, and feeling the pot gummy I’d eaten a half hour ago start to come on, announced by an uneasy self-consciousness and a brightening little buzz.

By John Holman September 2020
The Dog-Eared Page

The Race

I used my legs and heart as if I would
gladly use them up for this,
to touch him again in this life

By Sharon Olds September 2020