decalcomania by Shriya Ravi
“decalcomania” by Shriya Ravi even as the sun rises and you are no longer in shadows, she finds it hard to be afraid. there’s not much in the way of stealth, but when has she ever had use of it? nightfall does not hide the way she burns like a beacon; it does nothing to conceal the constitution of her bones. you are always chasing after her, this corporeal pipe dream. she is gentle in your arms and she is...
It Falls Gently All Around and Other Stories by Ramona Reeves
Happiness and connection prove fickle in this debut collection of eleven linked stories introducing Babbie and Donnie. She is a thrice-divorced former call girl, and he is a sobriety-challenged trucker turned yogi. Along with their community of exes, in-laws, and coworkers, Babbie and Donnie share a longing to reforge their lives, a task easier said than done in Mobile, Alabama, which bears its own share of tainted history....
The Dreaming by Ruth Thompson
“The Dreaming” by Ruth Thompson The princess Briar Rose, her mother the Queen, and all the court fall into sleep with the pricking of a finger. The crone, the dark fairy, also sleeps. They dream. 1. The Queen’s Dream When her daughter was born the queen vanished. Now she stands in her husband’s hall. She opens her mouth and flames pour out. All the court burns; the king goes up like kindling. Ah, I’m a...
The Daughter Walk by Sheila Bender
“The Daughter Walk” by Sheila Bender For Kathryne Kent We live on a circle, our mothers’ houses just to the west of our own. We carry casseroles to them, newspapers, print outs of family email, prunes to stew, brooms to sweep out the corners. Our feet crunch over their crushed gravel driveways as the sun rises behind us, sets in front of our eyes. ____________________ Share your response to this...
Honey by Margaret Chula
“Honey” by Margaret Chula I dream that I visit Mother in the last days of her life as she lies in bed naked, comfortable being naked as she never was when she was alive, her back tan and supple like Katherine Hepburn’s in The Philadelphia Story and I’m naked too as we compare bellies—how our fat is below our belly buttons, not above like a shelf that can fold over things and hold them fast, and she looks down...