Issue 11.2 – Poetry

I love when we get together and share a bottle of wine, or a carafe of sangria. I love when you ask if I’m staying for dinner. I love when you go out of your way to ask how I’m doing and if I need a lunch date because the answer is almost always yes….

Issue 11.1 – Nonfiction

Adeline ran the kitchen at Wheatland Memorial Hospital and Nursing Home. Even when she wasn’t there, her place seemed understood. Adeline had started working at the hospital in 1975, the year I was born, and by the time I came to work there sixteen years later, she was firmly entrenched in the routine of a…

Issue 11.1 – Fiction

Icy water bites my hand as I pluck an apple from the kitchen sink. The fruit is bruised, so my thumb pushes in through its skin. A soggy, brown mess; I use my knife to clean it the best I can, and, with what’s left, I make perfect squares, arranging them on a dish. The…

Issue 11.1 – Poetry

I’ve been thinking a lot about our conversation tonight, about what we talked about when we talked about death, about how the mortuary as I always knew it is gone now, moved down the street to the old car dealership where I was propositioned by a man three times my age when I asked him…