A Murder of Crows: The Kanye West Conversion

February 17, 2021

Anyhow, Maura chooses ballet for her son because she’s never seen a coon pirouette a la seconde, never seen an Uncle Tom execute consecutive tour jetes. Ballet is safe (thugs don’t twirl), albeit a little effeminate and her husband Marvin would have a fit if he knew.

Glades People by Roxane Gay

February 10, 2021

Tricia loved to talk with her clients. That’s how she judged people.

Warnings by Rebecca Turkewitz

February 10, 2021

We heeded most of the warnings most of the time. But we were runners. And no one told the boys’ team to practice in pairs or avoid wearing headphones at night. Besides, when we ran, who could touch us? We were our own private rooms.

Moles by Kellie Rankey

February 3, 2021

The behavior seems instinctual; children first meet their mothers, and then they meet the dirt, and the latter may pull them from the former. There is a connection to dirt and digging and digging and the life to be found in layers. All sorts of reasons to love it, they tell us.

Belly Heat by Eleanor Howell

January 27, 2021

This was not what she wanted to do with her day. She had meant to spend the afternoon writing a pitch; now she had scramble to protect her body from a mess that she, even in her drunken state, had attempted to prevent.

Looking by Emma Brousseau

January 20, 2021

But the man was jealous of even a peek. He took up my entire sightline that day, hanging half his body out of my eye or running between them to try to block every moment alone, every moment trying to see myself.

Mother, May I? by Melissa Lore

January 13, 2021

Mother, did I make you proud?

Chicory by Pascha Sotolongo

December 16, 2020

My father can be very beguiling. I don’t want to get too drawn into his bizarre world. I feel weird enough as it is, without the chicory: Cuban in a town with no other Cubans, gangly, smart, hairy, socially awkward, and I’m never bored.

Make a Wish by Jean Synodinos

December 9, 2020

Words carved with an urgent affection that seems everlasting but always fades when stripped and sanded to dust by a nameless janitor over summer vacation. Words like these: Julie, I wish this was enough. All the love I’ve left in this world is yours.

Hairy Govinda by Kathy Anderson

December 9, 2020

This old yoga lady next to me throws her legs up in the air and farts. That’s okay by me.

The Funeral by Billy Hallal

December 9, 2020

I’d never been alone with a girl in the house (or anywhere, really)—I was pretty sure it was against some parental rule. But so was getting drunk at a wake. And besides, Celeste was my cousin. No cause for suspicion there.

A World Without (Women) by Emma Burcart

November 18, 2020

We know we must use our bodies while we can, train them for a chance at escape. The farmers don’t bother with raising us to be docile. 'That’s what the needle is for,' they say.

As You Are by Kelsey Lepperd

November 11, 2020

You are afraid you’re not strong enough for her to lie to you. You are afraid that if you cannot trust your mother, you won’t know how to love her, and you are trying so hard to let love in.

Leaning into the End of the World by Matthew Hawkins

October 14, 2020

The punishment at the commune for having relations that weren’t explicably geared toward procreation was exile. The risk made it even better.

Growing Pains by M. M. Kaufman

May 20, 2020

Then I met this guy—and he was really very good at parties. Maybe that’s when I should have run.

Stasis by Ryan Bloom

May 20, 2020

The sweet scent of basil, the sharp bite of rosemary, in all the years since Tristan Mallory last breathed them in, they remained as vibrant and alive as ever, even here, light years from Earth, in an Observation Chamber floating in outer space.