Dec 3, 2020
by Dino Parenti
One unremarkable March day, a man began puncturing random holes in his withered pasture with a post-hole digger.
Nov 27, 2020
by Tori Malcangio
In the dark, from my twin bed, I listen to Romy and her latest visitor in the sheets.
Nov 25, 2020
by Alle C. Hall
She was eight and at the beach and she felt like a movie star.
Sep 6, 2020
by Maureen Simons
They came back every year to lay flowers at the spot. Two little girls, hand in hand, walked soundlessly up Nora’s driveway.
Jul 26, 2020
by Tommy Dean
I promised I wouldn’t follow, that I’d have to stay alive, because the people would demand a witness.
Dec 2, 2019
by Jordana Jacobs
Inside the ovaries of my husband’s grandmother, Sylvie, resided an egg the size of a grain of sand that would have been Hannah, my brilliant and accomplished mother-in-law.
Sep 8, 2019
by Jeff Somers
When she signed the lease and moved her stuff into the place, she knew she was leaning into a decline she’d begun some time before.
Jul 1, 2019
by Douglas W. Milliken
Mum died in the last days of October, leaving—among other things—a lot of fall-time chores incomplete.
Jun 4, 2019
by Lauren Lynn Matheny
Whatever the color, there had been a balloon. There had been a boy. And there had been a fall.
Jan 23, 2019
by Angie Ellis
I keep a list of songs I know well, so that if I get dementia people can reach the real me hidden inside my broken brain.