FICTION
Island Girl by Shivani Manghnani
The Marine said his name was Dusty. She said hers was Laila, which was the name on the fake ID Kareena presented to the bouncer at the Wave Waikiki. If Crystal hadn’t led the way in a tube top…
Some guilty pleasures on this side of the border by Moisés R. Delgado
Nearly two decades in this country and Ross would make it difficult for our mom to leave if she had to leave tomorrow. It’s where she found her favorite purse—plum purple, faux leather, a simple yet elegant tulip print.…
Corpse Washer by Jennifer Springsteen
How to Wash the Dead Lenten, pansy, crocus, snowdrop Lewellen Hubbard was the corpse laid out before me. With my sponge soaked in sweet oil—Lenten and crocus blossom—I worked around the old scars on her arms: slash marks…
Floaters by Kelle Groom
Dark birds fly from my eyes. Disappear. Where do the kittens come from? We don’t have a cat. Just kittens lumped together like a single entity. A litter. In a box a blanket a bag on the passenger seat?…
The Interview by Daniel Frears
1. The day had been long and pleasant and I was dozing off in the early evening to the sound of leaves rustling. The wind would come around the side of the house and blow through the karaka trees…
How to Become a Lesbian in Your Thirties by Catherine Buck
The first step is realizing that you just can. Do you look at the other trendy queer people in your life, consider that they possess something so freeing and joyful and good, wish that perhaps you were as lucky…
because if something no right, you no suppose sit down and look by Ayotola Tehingbola
Orode walked slowly on the wooden bridge. The water beneath him assaulted his senses. It smelt of tar and shit. He strode across the wooden planks. Reeds broke the surface of the murky river. Toads croaked loudly. Mosquitoes buzzed…
The Woman Who Looked Like Patti Smith by Catherine McNamara
It’s an ugly thing to follow a woman along the street but this is what I did. She was a copy of Patti Smith during the early Mapplethorpe years, before Horses and Mineshaft and all the BDSM, when they…
Empty Nester by Jennifer Lewis
I hold the things I need in my arms. Since the pandemic, I don’t use a basket. Today, I’m cradling a bottle of Advil gel caps, blue mascara, and a ginger lemon kombucha. Customer service associate needed in the…
Southern Womb by Heidi Richardson
Trula be gone, selfish-flown some say or eyeing a new man. I say, Tru chugged by her own factory steam—didn’t one of us help or remind her of the mold blooming up the sides of her curtainless house—that Judson…