The Winter Swimming of my Grandmother People see my grandmother walk down the road with a towel over her shoulder. The local pig hunters, burly men in thick plaid jackets and fur lined boots shake their heads in disbelief. They…
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The Seventh Son When my mother’s new boyfriend moved in I kept out of his way by hiding in the garden of a derelict house. The garden was full of trees, but the one I loved most was a hundred…
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Front Porch Swing My guess is most Southerners have a story about a front porch swing and mine is likely similar to most, only to add that it is truly impossible to fight or argue when one’s vestibular system is…
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Flashes from the Past by Al Kratz, NFFR Fiction Editor It’s like finding a $20 bill in an old pair of jeans. It’s like scrolling through your photos on Facebook, seeing yourself doing something you forgot you ever did….
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Saguaro Cacti Hold up Their Arms I ride the 120 miles of desert road―Phoenix to Tucson―on Amy’s bike. Pink tassels hang from the handlebars of her woman’s bike. My palms rest where hers had. If she saw me now, she’d…
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