by Orly Berkowitz-Henkin
i will pick him up, drive him to his places.
he will not know mine
by Alice Hatcher
I woke up refreshed, with a clarity of vision that allowed me to see just how ill-prepared I was to protect my house.
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by Francesca Spiegel
That’s all these windows will ever know, flat as a tradwife Instagram account that only knows spatulas, cookie dough and frilly apron; flat as the shoe of a waitress.
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by Bonnie Day
If I felt like going at full speed, I would pedal as fast as I could until my breath came in fits and a stitch crackled in my side. Or I could pedal so slowly that a little old lady could pass me by. Or I could stop, once, twice, even three times. Sip water and stare into the field. Alone was good. It was what I wanted. And so, we both biked alone.
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by Linda Griffin
I lived with strangers. Some of them were related to me. Some were not. I don’t know if any of them loved me. They never said.
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by Victoria Krammen Butler
She could still sense whispers of the weeks, months and years she’d experienced in stories before, but she never longed for them. That was another rule: she should remain in the present. The fragments were enough to know she existed, and that in itself was all she needed. She liked it that way. Though, again, she wasn’t sure if there even were other ways.
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by HB Collins
Let tranquil weeping fall on the ears of your ghosts
and the palms of your demons, who wait just as eagerly
as you to your phone, where you pray to a god
you don’t believe in, for just one text.
by Stetson Ray
It’s like being married to a doctor I suppose. People need him. He has an important job to do. I’m just some woman. Our son is just some baby.
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by Clive Aaron Gill
In a groundbreaking national study, researchers discovered cats can turn any item into an impromptu toy. The researchers also revealed that felines have a sixth sense for finding expensive delicate things to knock off shelves.
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by Susan Shea
to defy gravity, to move clouds with my
fingertips, to eat only light and like it
by Amanda Jaffe
The light in your bedroom begins its transformation from the ambient, below-the-horizon light of early dawn to the burgeoning light of daybreak. Beams of gold begin to filter through the gaps in the window blinds, shimmering on the wall beside your bed. When you were seven, you’d wake to beams like these.
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by Heather Holland Wheaton
You talk and talk until the sky grows dark and the rats scurry out of their burrows looking for food that's not as plentiful as it used to be.
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Image by Amy Bassin
Words by Mark Blickley
Thank you for taking the time to write me a letter and to slip it under my door.
