Their father was a photographer who took pictures of Cuba, mostly cars. Blue Chevrolets against backdrops of scarred yet colorfully painted apartment buildings. TIME magazine published several of them in the early eighties and the paycheck was substantial enough to afford his getaway. He left them in the middle of the night. Sarah and her…
Category: Issue 14
Issue 14.5 – Poetry
I went to the spot —stood there— trying to remember why I vowed never to return. It had been so dark in my memory, musty and in my lungs like pneumonia. I never thought the room would be sweet tasting ever again. But standing there, where it happened, I knew it wasn’t the…
Issue 14.4 – Nonfiction
While waiting in the car line to pick up my daughters from school on Friday, an idea pops into my head: I will treat them to after-school cookies from the nearby bakery. I debate with myself about this thought, because I’m in a cycle of frugality, feeling like I contribute little, only consume, being the…
Issue 14.4 – Fiction
Taylor plopped down next to me on the crunchy grass the Friday before Halloween. None of this would have happened, had I woken up early enough to ride my bike. She started chatting immediately, apparently not noticing my look of confusion or the ear-buds jammed into my head, my signal to the rest of the…
Issue 14.4 – Poetry
I slip my hand between your thumb & pointer finger, you squeeze it gently, stare to the right where the painting you like best hangs. This isn’t a fight. This is an I love you. I love you & it pains me to be so exposed. All my soft, important parts visible to you alone….
Issue 14.3 – Nonfiction
There are three ways in which I imagine my Grandma W’s life played out. They are all just imaginary, because a large portion of her life remains unknown to me. I suspect somebody knows about her missing years, but I don’t, and I don’t want to push for details should the answer be one of…
Issue 14.3 – Fiction
I knew that Jimmy Pallotta was my birth father in the same way I knew that the brown stain on my forearm was a birth mark. Everyone has a birth mark somewhere. Birth mark, birth father. They carried the same weight in my life. Besides, the man had eight other children; his plate runneth over….
Issue 14.3 – Poetry
She lives beneath my skin A blind and tortured viper gliding through darkness Looking for air and light and the right way to escape This slithering princess with her endless needs, lusty and lithe Her creamy hands clutching at pearls of wisdom while swine await their bounty The scenes float down, manna for a-muse-ment Gossamer…
Issue 14.2 – Interview with Pat Schneider
An Interview with Friend, Mentor, and Colleague, Pat Schneider, Founder of the Amherst Writers and Artists Method May 9, 2010 By Suzanne S. Rancourt I’m thinking of how my own story as an artist is a weft of thread in the tapestry of Pat Schneider. In 1999 I received my MFA from Vermont College,…
Issue 14.2 – Fiction
She always wore her seatbelt, but not this time. Sharp, shooting pains ricocheted through her ribs with such veracity that the mere thought of strapping the belt across her chest stole the air from her lungs and left her gasping. Naked without her seatbelt, she tried to convince herself that car accidents only happen when…
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