We got together, once the babies were born. In the usual place. This was where we would come to drink coffee and tell each other all the things we did not know about ourselves until that moment.
Milk Teeth by Emma Kernahan
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Special Issue: Place
Retracing by Claire Polders
It’s easy to disappear in the dampness of this town. Twelve moons ago, my mother wandered through a murky labyrinth of streets and bridges, crossing canal after canal—like I do now—leaving no footsteps.
Mandy Wants to Touch the Horizon by Francine Witte
“It’s there. I can see it,” she says. She is all floaty wings and bathing cap as she stands on the shore line. The salty lip of the surf at her feet.
The Winter Swimming of my Grandmother by Frankie McMillan
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.
The Seventh Son by Sandra Arnold
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 year old macrocarpa called Septimus.
Front Porch Swing by Sheree Shatsky
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 engaged in full kinetic motion.
Saguaro Cacti Hold up Their Arms by Sudha Balagopal
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.
The Meanderer by Mason Binkley
I have been training my husband and children not to complain about anything I do that they can do themselves.
Things Said and Done by Frances Gapper
At night she hears a scratchy skittering, mice inside the wall. An owl hoots in the copse; the mice fall silent. The owl hoots again, close to her ear.
The Dead Dog Tree by Steven John
We halt our walk for you to look at The Dead Dog Tree. Hanging by sodden, redundant leads, rain- filled wallets of clear plastic with smudged photos of deceased canines.