She left me with red letters that looped like hair ribbons, wild rice, pinto beans and a handful of raisins, she wrote, whatever you got. …
I Can’t Remember Him Past Third Grade by Amanda Karwel
After that time my father kidnapped us, all of our custody exchanges happened in the police station parking lot. My sister and I were passed …
Weatherman by Indya Shaw
In 20 years, I won’t remember the lady that sold me my favourite magazine and called me babe. How it uplifted me briefly, and I …
Anchor by Lori Werner
The first time I found him I was sixteen. He was crumpled under his bike like an unpaid bar tab. He smelled like cigarettes and …
The Opposite of Ending by Arielle Trager
As each day stretched me further from the first, I began to think that you never really fall out of love. I began to think …
I Don’t Write Love Poems by Kiernan Norman
We didn’t bloom together the way we should have. We never eyed each other across neat soil; both self-conscious and self-righteous as we sipped the …
So This Is Life by Carissa Cicchini
Don’t you see? Your body sprouts out flowers from the crevices in which the demons broke you. The tallied marks that line your skin show …
Notes on Loving the Girl Stained with Scars and Depression by Megan Tyler
Lend her your hope; she will label it as her own and attach to you like velcro. Don’t treat her like a thunderstorm; she is …
Daughter Dawn by Michael Lee Johnson
Daughter Dawn Christine wakes under gray cracked South Bend, Indiana skies. Date is November 3, 1965, Memorial Hospital. The moon moves back, shelters this infant. …