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December 11, 2017 | Fiction

For All My Strangers

Keegan Lester

We were listening to the bombing over the radio while my mother drove me to confirmation class that night.  The radio said We as if America was a bunch of siblings who once shared a bed together.

For All My Strangers photo
Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane photo

December 8, 2017 | Fiction

Goodbye Mary, Goodbye Jane

Meghan Phillips

I could take my hands off. Just unlock them at the wrists, snap them off like the heads of artificial flowers. As long as my mouth’s working him, up down up down, he wouldn’t notice if I had no

Winter in Guayaquil photo

December 7, 2017 | Nonfiction

Winter in Guayaquil

Jean Ferruzola

That winter my mother takes me to her country, a little place on the equator I had not yet seen.

2 Poems photo

December 6, 2017 | Poetry

2 Poems

Ethan Chua

the night of the attack

mother did you hear them
they had tongues like lightning
and forked through the forest
shooting the heads off sparrows.

mother did you see their
bonfires