We are blown away by the reception Issue 1.1 received. Over the last week, Issue 1.1 has been viewed over 1,700 times by readers in nine different countries . . . the U.S., the U.K., Canada, Ireland, Germany, the Netherlands, Haiti, Australia, and New Zealand. What a wonderful experience it’s been to launch our journal…
Issue 1.2 – Nonfiction
I was born in a middle class family in a small town in Northern India. Money was scarce; struggles were plenty. My parents wanted our lives to be better than theirs and believed education was the key to it. So, they enrolled us in the best private schools which were well beyond their…
Issue 1.2 – Fiction
The examination table hurts my goddamn back. I sit up straighter but it doesn’t help much. You have to have ab strength to stay in this position for any amount of time. This exam came about because I bled after sex last week, twice, and I knew immediately that something was wrong. I haven’t…
Issue 1.2 – Poetry
Ode to the Ladies of the Teen Living Program Do you know that I can see you? No, not your hairstyle or your new sneakers. Not your jeans or your freshly filled acrylic nails. I see you. ~ I recognize the frustration and aggravation caused by years of deprivation, so much alienation. Always the one…
A Word from the Editor
We are so excited to launch our new web journal, the Same! Our mission is to advance and celebrate the voices of women and girls. When we first envisioned this journal, we planned to exclusively publish nonfiction. Women telling their own, personal stories. However, when we put out the call for submissions, we realized we wanted to…
Issue 1.1 – Nonfiction
My father’s ashes arrived today. I wonder if the postman realized what was inside the inconspicuous cardboard box in his care. Did he happen to glance down at the return address label, Angelus Funeral and Cremation Traditions, and cringe at the thought of holding some stranger’s ashes in his hands? Did he feel sorrow, or…
Issue 1.1 – Fiction
Not Only Mine I made her, from so little. From my body. I made her one icy night and held her inside for nine rushing-past months. Three trimesters of fear. Sixteen hours of longing and primal pain. And then, and then. How many seconds, while I strained to hear her cry? Twenty, perhaps. It felt…
Issue 1.1 – Poetry
Our Sister, Mary Magdalene In the Age of Aquarius, girls dumped ratted beehives and bouffants for hair, long, beautiful hair, ditched their mother’s dresses for go-go boots and minis, but at steepled doors, old men stood guard like Cerberus, eyes bulging, yardsticks in hand measuring skin above the boot, a…
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