Category Archives: Nonfiction

Women Like Them

by Lana Spendl

When we were students in this new town, my friend Annabel’s house stood on a hill. A cracked staircase led to the front door, and inside, incense and music drifted in air. Throws beckoned from every corner. Sepia photos stood in old frames. And always something held magic for Annabel. Always something deserved to be opened like fruit with her hands.

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The Green Coat

by Samantha Steiner

It was a weekday, sunny but winter, and I was in my hooded green coat. I approached the subway platform just as a man was leaving, but he wasn’t leaving, he was walking toward me. He had a hand on my arm, stroking the fabric of my coat, and his head leaned too close: a thin face, a deep umber, salt and pepper scruff, eyes that emanated permanent confusion. Continue reading

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Holland Park

by Cynthia Belmont

I lived in London for half my junior year of college and only spoke to my parents twice. It was the 1980s, before the internet and mobile devices, when you were truly on your own. Overseas calls were expensive, and I enjoyed crafting my life into hand-written letters featuring scenes that amplified its splendor. Continue reading

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The Ida Poplowski Chronicles

by Maddie Woda

My father says his fifth grade teacher was Guy Fieri’s grandmother. She had red hair and freckles, according to my father, and taught social studies in the trailer duct taped to the actual elementary school. He, my father, and apparently she, Guy Fieri’s grandmother, are both from Powhatan Point, Ohio, a crusty junction of Ohio and West Virginia in the Ohio River Valley. Food is love in Powhatan Point, just like food is love in most places, and my grandmother (not Guy Fieri’s) owned two restaurants while my father was growing up. One was called the Wigwam (I do not debate the politics of this moniker with my father. What’s done is done). The other was called Dorelli’s, manned by Doris and Ellie, my grandmother and great-aunt respectively, before they were my grandmother and great-aunt. Continue reading

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The First Brassiere

by Penny Jackson

The reason why my mother had to buy me a bra was because of a letter from our school’s headmaster to the parents of the 7th grade girls. It was noted that many girls who were “maturing” were not wearing the proper undergarments. Teachers would now routinely check each girl who came to the school by tracing a finger down their backs. If the necessary “item” was not worn, the girl could be sent home. Continue reading

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