Prose

Thursday, September 29th, 2011

Polychindas” by Jason Newport
“I’m eight years old, and I’m eating polychindas for breakfast with my little sister. She’s three. We’re eating in the kitchen while Mom’s at the stove, pouring another string of white batter into the sizzling pan. The two-story house is old, the kitchen small. There’s no breakfast…” read more

Our Living Faces” by Helen Alston
“She photographed Federico Fellini dancing on the set of Satyricon in 1969. In 1993, she took a picture of Liam Neeson smoking on a street corner in Manhattan the same year he was nominated for an Oscar for his performance in Schindler’s List. She has photographed presidents…“read more

Letter from the Editor” by Susannah Clark
“You just spilled chili on my words. You’re sitting in the homestyle cooking room, rehashing the number of freshman girls that grinded on you last night to your bros. You’re talking with your mouth full, and spittle of ground beef and kidney beans is spraying all over…” read more

Hunger” by Kate Kimball
“Ms. Helena Mayes has the largest thighs I have ever seen, and this is one of the problems I have with moving her. Their texture is like the white of a hard-boiled egg left in the pot a minute too long—stiff and rubbery. Their blue veins…” read more

Why Writing About Trespassing in Steam Tunnels is Dangerous and Wrong”
by Ryan Marr
“It was a cold weekend night near the end of the fall semester and I was huddled in the shadows beneath an evergreen tree on the sloping hill beside duPont Hall.  My arms strained to lift the prickly branches into a canopy above Justin’s kneeling form as he…read more

Scar Tissue” by Olivia Snider
“I have a blistering, pus-filled burn on the inside of my right ankle, the result of my most recent trip to Memphis. I was at a gas station, cursing my sundress habit as I attempted to swing my leg over the seat of my friend’s motorcycle without exposing anything. I succeeded, but…” read more

Stockholm Syndrome” by Olivia Snider
“He told me he’d been raped during one of his deployments, in a hotel room steeped in the smell of stale sweat and loneliness. They’d all been drinking, he and his buddies, memory-dampening poison sloshing around in their sailors’ stomachs. He couldn’t quite recall…” read more

Ode to a Former Love” by Claire Pickard
“The balmy tingle of your skin grazing mine is enough to send chills all down my arm. The hard, brown ridges of your back dig into my palm, and as my lips draw closer to you, I can sense your smoky presence. The raw desire between us is…” read more

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