There was always a map in our mother’s lap as we drove over states we’d never imagined before; leaving our Pennsylvania discount-outlet-shopping-mall town that smelled of fried onions, matzo balls, fathers and grandparents—leaving a television that blinked blue all…
My mother never ripened. When she was young, they bit into her and stopped the natural ripening process. After they’d spit her out, she stayed green until she began to rot. At the end of her life she was…
Award-winning author Meg Pokrass, who will serve as our guest judge for the CRAFT 2024 Flash Prose Prize, has published eight collections of flash fiction and two novellas. Meg was generous enough to conduct this flash interview through email…
