Prose Archived

two trees in the fog

Things Long Dead

by Rhonda Browning White
I ain’t sure if the prickle on my scalp is one of foretelling, like when time slides around and I know things ahead of God’s time for them to happen, or if it’s anger from knowing I’ve finally caught up with the lying sack of shit.

apple orchard very green

The 89th Jar

by Carol Barrett
Two sounds continually punctuate this house: the cat’s paws at the back door, time to go out, or come in, thank you, and my daughter sneezing.

building like scales

Someone, If Not Her

by JoeAnn Hart
In the Venn diagram of a family, the mother was where all the circles intersected, and it was a cramped, irregular space. It was here that family members blamed one another, complaining how hard it was to get away from jobs or children, stressing how impossible it was for their mother to live with them, when of course, what they meant was die.

He Was Henry Hudson – Contest Winner

by Linda Chase He was Henry Hudson, navigating the mighty river, heading north. He loved this river. His river. The sheer power of it, the expanse. The night was coal black. A thick darkness cloaked the bank...

The Wishing Stone – Contest Finalist

by Cecily Markham I walk into the room to check on her, to see if the pain medication helped. I am a young nurse. My patient is lying in the bed by the window. The room is honey-like from the sun pouring in....

Jefferson’s Children

by Maureen Hirthler “If you don’t do something right now, I’m going to hurt my children.” Standing at the window of the police station, this is what you say. The policewoman comes out to get you, hand restin...

Days of the Giants

by Madaline Harrison Days of the giants. When I was in training, the attendings used that phrase, often after telling a story from earlier days in medicine, describing a harrowing night on call or a now-lege...

Bok Choy

by Valerie Borey My sister-in-law had offered to help me chop vegetables in the kitchen, ferret eyes behind wire-rimmed glasses sizing me up. “Do you know how to chop bok choy?” I giggled. “Like celery, I th...

Dad Died

by N. West Moss When I was little, Dad would get into the car and say, “Let’s get lost.” “OK,” I’d shout, sitting up in the front seat next to Dad, where kids were allowed back then, no seat belts require...

Edgar Degas’s Eyes

by Zeynel A. Karcioglu, MD and David A. Eliason, MD Department of Ophthalmology, University of Virginia, Charlottesville, Virginia Edgar Degas (1834-1917), the eminent French painter, struggled throughout ...