Prose

Erin McGuff-Pennington She Knew Nowadays all it takes is Call the Midwife, one glass of wine, and I’m an overflowing tub of emotions, soupy water sloshing over the sides. I doubt there’s an end to it—other than the very end—but…

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Aimee Pozorski It’s Nothing You Did A woman is most vulnerable flat on her back, knees to her chest, panties dropped to the floor. Darkness surrounds her as the room’s shadows whisper. A wand scans the woman suspicious…

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Elaine Terranova Tantrum Things are very hard in the world of a three-year-old.  So much you are born not understanding. You can play in the street but only until supper. You get a spanking for the interesting white…

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Bruce Moody The Embrace Its wings, its ribs, shoulders, its skin have a mind that desires — as the fires of spring desire — to be held, close, firm, firmly by hands. Hold me, hold me the…

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Susan McGee Bailey Rainbow Time Months into Covid-19, time has lost all precision. Days and weeks have a pleasant, blurry quality similar to my daughter’s rainbows. The ones done in water color, no clear lines of demarcation, one color…

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Sophie Rhem Am I A Mother I Am 19 days. 456 hours. 27,360 minutes. 1,641,600 seconds. None of them are simple numbers, easily divisible and sorted into categories. They are complex. Confusing. Difficult for my muddled brain to make…

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