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Creative Nonfiction

Baby Brain

When the flutters inside me turn to more powerful kicks, I guide my husband’s hand to my stomach. Somehow, I feel that if I only tell him about our baby’s…

Creative Nonfiction | January 2018 | By Maya Silver


Natural Tan

Everything about me was wrong in my new school. My hair was black, not blonde. My eyes were mud-colored brown, not blue or green, like shiny marbles.

Creative Nonfiction | December 2017 | By Sejal Patel


Outside/In

The baby is awake again. He’s hungry. You feed him, only wincing a little this time. You remind yourself that this is beautiful.

Creative Nonfiction | November 2017 | By Kristen Moraine


Dark Water

When I was a little girl, I believed in ghosts: I loved the true story collections about doors opening and closing, small children in old fashioned clothes appearing at the…

Creative Nonfiction | November 2017 | By Jennifer Jameslyn


Wrestlings

We stumble out of the neurologist’s office. Juan squeezes my hand as we walk to the A train. We don’t talk until we get down into the subway.

Creative Nonfiction | October 2017 | By Kyla Kupferstein Torres


Mother Me

When I married her only son ten years ago, my mother-in-law welcomed me into the family. I had no living mother. She had no daughter. Each of us filled a…

Creative Nonfiction | October 2017 | By Magin LaSov Gregg


White Noise

There is a flicker of panic in her eyes as she realizes I am not joking. I give a nervous laugh and bite my thumbnail, not because I’m someone who…

Creative Nonfiction | September 2017 | By Danielle LaSusa


Water Baby

Eklampsis, a lightning etymology I reject. The flashing lights are certainly flashy, and send hospital staff scrambling; but what I really hear is “clamp.” A surging, suppressed.

Creative Nonfiction | September 2017 | By Julie Rosenzweig


Celebrating a Father She Doesn’t Remember

Love, like loss, doesn’t reside in memory. It doesn’t reside in words or even in story, though those come a bit closer. I know because I’ve watched a little girl…

Creative Nonfiction | June 2017 | By Julia Cho


My Father, at Rikers

My father is a skilled con man with a deft ear for music, an infectious laugh, and, for several years after my parents’ divorce, was my closest companion. Loving him…

Creative Nonfiction | June 2017 | By Eliot Sloan


Christmas Cards

My father recognized the truth before I was ready to accept it; he couldn’t leave the assisted facility without help, and he never would.

Creative Nonfiction | June 2017 | By Sue Hamilton


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