by Rebecca Keller
1 The Mother, 1996
Yolanda fussed in her playpen, working up to a howl. Maria launched herself out of the chair like an awkward pole-vaulter. Her belly was heavy, and the sweat trickling between her breasts felt like an insect in her bra. Being pregnant the first time had been easy. Yolanda had been small and light, floating easily in her middle, light and calm. Continue reading
by Eva Lomski
a fuk a fuk a fuk
She wished she knew the species of tropical bird in the palm tree making that call, because she wanted to pin a medal to its chest. Late afternoon, just as the sun disappeared from the pool, and champagne corks were heard popping all over the resort, a fuk a fuk a fuk it called, tiredly, plaintively, to a potential rival or mate.
by Karl Luntta
He sat on a fallen palm tree on the beach, dazed, the pain in his ankle peaking, maybe turning the corner. He’d already begun to think of it as a foreign thing, not part of his body, no danger to him, nothing to worry about. At least he’d begun to will it so. Out here in the middle of nowhere, no doctor, nurse, no clinic on the island, things could go south quickly, and with little flourish.
by Joshua James Jordan
The basketball hoops are folded up into the gymnasium ceiling to make room for half of a rusty airplane serving as the centerpiece for the homecoming dance. The shop class had brought it in piece by piece, and the lights strung through it change from purple to blue to green to—now you know where the budget for your raise went. You’re only chaperoning as a punishment after that bitchy assistant principal caught you teaching class while hungover, but, hell, it was a Friday, and you’d used up all your sick leave already, and the substitutes are all idiots anyway.
by Beth Escott Newcomer
You are standing with the porch light behind you, casting a shadow on the steps. I can see you’re holding the letter. I left it out on the kitchen table in plain sight, and yet I’m still surprised you noticed it, let alone cared to read it.