Robert Horan (1942-2021) ~ Victoria Gough

“I have kinda sad news to tell you,” my mother says through a mouthful of nachos. She knows I hate when people talk with their mouths full. “But don’t get too sad, okay?” “Okay.” “My dad died.” I choke, and a shard of tortilla chip scrapes its way down my esophagus....

Lemon Tree ~ Sarah Langer

Pop used to tell me that on his birthday, he got to ride the barn pony to school. The walk was about a mile long, which worsened in the winter months of Wisconsin. By late December, snow was creeping under the roof shingles as he slept, drifting lazily onto his...

The Ache of Endings ~ Kate Irwin

“So much of life is just things ending,” I told someone last week. I said it last week, but I said it a few months ago, too. And I thought about it last night, and three mornings before that. And I also thought about it a lot last year. I said it aloud to everyone...

I Imagine ~ Emmanuela Eneh

I imagine that when my Dad pushed me, he immediately realized he had shoved too hard. Some combination of the crunch and snap must have tipped him off. I’m aware of just how uncomfortable it is to see a child cry; the quiet sniffling and big, somber eyes before the...

Slowed to a Tractor’s Crawl ~ Lance Colet

80 slows to 70, to 60, 40, 30, 20 miles an hour. I’m stuck behind a tractor. A mustard yellow behemoth with rear tires as big as boulders. It rolls along lazily, watched by me, watched by the traffic coagulating behind it. The road is a one-laner, with too many turns...

Sounds Like Somewhere I Once Was ~ Kate Irwin

“I know I’m not a hopeless case.” – U2, “Beautiful Day” I’m six (and I’m also four, eight and nine), and I’m squeezed between the boys in the back of Dad’s car. I’m nervous, in the way one can only be for six-year old soccer (and four-year old, eight-year old and...