CREATIVE NONFICTION
Black Tax: The Back-to-Back-to-Back Breaking of Black Hair, Black Bank Accounts, and Black Beauty Salon Culture by Exodus Oktavia Brownlow
Spring 2025 When did Black women get so impatient with our own selves? Is what I think alongside sitting underneath a hooded hair dryer for thirty minutes, the plastic cap bubbling a brewing smell of onion juice, garlic, and…
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Drawing My Mother by Jesse Lee Kercheval
My mother’s been dead since 1982, two thirds of my life. Today, I am perched on a stool at a table in the Comics Room at the University of Wisconsin–Madison trying to remember what she looked like so I…
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Conundrum by Will McMillan
Elvis Presley’s warbling on the overhead speakers as Mom and I browse a warm, wood-splashed Barnes & Noble. She wants to buy a puzzle for my nephew in Florida. She turns to me. “Oh god, the day Elvis died?…
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The Way Seahorses Hang On by Anne Panning
I. Rain gush-pummels our car. Whippet wipers slash frantically at the whitecaps. Off to Slippery Rock, Pennsylvania, to watch our daughter, Lily’s, volleyball tournament. It’s the weekend before Thanksgiving, and our son, Hudson, is meeting us there from Pittsburgh. …
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Mary Ruefle Drives Me to the Dentist by Kelly Luce
Peterborough, New Hampshire We get lost and it’s my fault. I think I know a shortcut. Mary knows only the long way around. I have an appointment for a man to look into my mouth and tell me my…
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Drawing Breath in Chapters by Rose Gerszberg
A stowaway made the long trip to the United States with my mother, father, and me. Unbidden and unticketed, tucked into the pocket of a gray overcoat, chilled by early fall’s ocean breezes, pushed back by hope—grief nevertheless made…
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Women’s Hospital by Anne P. Beatty
They are tearing down Women’s Hospital, where I gave birth to my youngest two, a girl against the flame-bright maples of November, a boy in June’s fat sweat. For years, the hospital stands silent, as we drive to the…
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Mangled Pike Spotted by Kiddie Pool by Faye Wikner
When the fish is dead, it lies in the shallow of water that never goes away, in the dirt, the remnants of blood from my forefinger where I pricked myself four times over, maybe some from that pike, too.…
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Pageant Queen by Ryan Kristopher Jory
This used to be my go-to anecdote when warming up to strangers in bars: the one about my pageant for the repairman. It had been my parents’ first color television, a Zenith workhorse in a wooden case, complete with…
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Appetites by Ann Levin
I was halfway through the show when I first saw the picture, hanging all alone on a wall. I knew I should hurry up, had other things to do. But something about the size and the color drew me…
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