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Containment Theory by Kirsti Sandy NOVEMBER 28, 2011
During the first Reagan Administration, I babysat for a family of three boys who lived at the end of our dead-end street in Andover, Massachusetts.

Now You’re Even Older by Molly Tolsky NOVEMBER 21, 2011
The morning of my birthday party, I cried into an array of brochures. They were for group trips, group homes, a members only club I wasn’t eligible to join. I wiped my wet nose with their jet inked pages, then slid them into a bathroom bin.

Gendered by Lidia Yuknavitch NOVEMBER 14, 2011
When I was seven I asked Merrit Douglas to pee on me. Merrit was the only black kid at our school and I adored him so much that when I stared at him my eyes shivered.

Pet Sounds by Alex Behr NOVEMBER 7, 2011
It’s May 14, the day after Friday the Thirteenth. Not that I am superstitious, but I’m wary of the woman walking toward me.

I Am My Favorite Person by Seth Fried OCTOBER 31, 2011
For starters, I am physically good looking.Though, not too good looking. That’s important.

The Truth About Sadie Brown by Lindsay Sproul OCTOBER 26, 2011
When I think of Sadie Brown, she is standing in front of the secondary school library and the bees are trying to pollinate her sundress.
Four Poems by B.C. Edwards OCTOBER 19, 2011
Excerpts from To Mend Small Children (Forthcoming, Augury Books, 2011) and From the Standard Cyclopedia (Forthcoming, Black Lawrence Press, 2013)
Norman Justice is Dead by Jessica Chrastil OCTOBER 10, 2011
All year we are on the floor, in the room, me and the man with the wife in New York. It’s a high room with a hard floor, strung up in a tall block of buildings near the lake where I once used to hang glide.
Mnemonics by J.E. Reich OCTOBER 3, 2011
We’ve brought board games, video devices, audio devices, mnemonic devices, salted cashews, libations and more libations, all to keep us duly amused.
Both Ways by Sarah Fishtein
SEPTEMBER 25, 2011
It felt like one of the most selfish things I had ever done—leaving my hospice volunteer job in the middle of a shift to fool around with a man I hardly knew, a man who already had a girlfriend—but the point is, I came back.
The Workers Who Have No Names by Matthew Dexter SEPTEMBER 19, 2011
They whittle away their afternoons at Walmart, bagging groceries for gringos, begging in silence by piling their moneda in the corner of the conveyor belt for customers to notice.
Cottage Way House by Jason R. Jiminez SEPTEMBER 12, 2011
When I was seven years old I saw my dad masturbating in the shower. He crouched in the stall behind tempered glass.
The Dative Case by Daniel Nester SEPTEMBER 5, 2011
Tucson, Arizona, 1961. Dr. Blanford Murlin Nester administers injections of testosterone enanthate to his 13-year-old son, Michael.
God Hates This by Marissa Quenqua AUGUST 29, 2011
“Look, Mom!” In the locker room shower, my step-sister points down to my crotch and yells.
Second Marriages by Jacob Houser AUGUST 22, 2011
The sorts of cigarettes that Harvey smokes are the kind that kill off the poor with progressive taxation — the worst of the worst.
The Nightbird by Brandi Neal AUGUST 15, 2011
My father’s Nissan chugs like a tired train ‘round hairpin turns up South Mountain in Phoenix. I don’t let my eyes dart toward the edge because I’m afraid of heights.

Plans for Happiness by Janet Freeman AUGUST 8, 2011
I’m eleven and living in Springfield, Virginia, which is like saying I live in a place held together with cardboard and glue, an architect’s idea of what small town Connecticut might look like, minus the robber barons.

Raspail by Liana Scalettar AUGUST 1, 2011
This is what I remember. This is what I have dreamt. This is no longer my story.

The Life Story of L by Michael Kimball JULY 25, 2011
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: My friend Adam Robinson was one of the curators for a performance art festival, the Transmodern in Baltimore, and he asked me if I wanted to participate. I asked him what he thought a writer could do as performance and we made some jokes about that.

The Porch by Melissa Seley JULY 25, 2011
Who made the coffee? I wondered as I sat at my mom’s whitewashed pine table. Even without its leaves inserted, the table felt too large for the narrow dining area wedged between the kitchen and the laundry room in the house my mom had been renting for eight years.

Reconciliation by Jamie Iredell JULY 18, 2011
The only difference between most of my classmates and me was our skin tone and language. I struggled to learn Spanish. But together we were small town Catholics, suffering through life and mass at Our Lady of Refuge.

The Thing Wayzata, Minnesota Had Over New York City by M.J. Corey JULY 11, 2011
I never missed my hometown even a little bit, not even one occasional wince of nostalgia in even the worst of Manhattan moments, until my baby sister (who is in actuality an elegant sixteen-year-old studying for the PSATS, no baby) told me that Down in the Valley had closed.

Sins of the Daughter: Lust IV by Shanna Germain JULY 4, 2011
Once, when I was sixteen or seventeen, my father found a story I’d written. No, it was a list. I just told him it was a story, after. But first it was a list. A real list. My first memoir.

Punctured by Len Kuntz JUNE 27, 2011
In the umbra of her resolve, I watched Mother stick pin after pin into her skin.

Que Le Vaya Bien by Stacy Pershall JUNE 20, 2011
The first time I saw Gideon, he was wearing a peacock-blue polyester jacket with heart-shaped plaid patches sewn onto the elbows, swinging his head wildly and grinning from ear to ear, thumping out “Turkey in the Straw” on an upright bass scrawled with the Sharpie signature of Mike Watt of The Minutemen.

A Narrow Slice of Things by Mira Ptacin JUNE 15, 2011
“These cactus are so phallic.” This is what I say to Andrew in the early moments of what will spread into an entire February day spent wringing the narrow backroads of Puerto Rico. We’re just coming out of Arecibo after visiting the world’s largest telescope, rounding another bend in the road, when a knotty constellation of Prickly Pear bursts from a cliff of burgundy dry soil.

Once, I Was Pretty by Roxane Gay JUNE 15, 2011
There have been years and years of my life I can’t remember a thing about. A family member will say, “Remember the time [insert significant family moment],” and I stare blankly, having no recollection of these moments whatsoever.

Florida Fire Child by David McLoghlin MAY 23, 2011
In 2008, poet David McLoghlin was awarded 2nd prize in The Patrick Kavanagh Awards, won 1st prize in the English section of the inaugural Frances Brown Multilingual Poetry Competition, and read with Poetry Ireland’s Introductions reading series for emerging poets.

My Heart Was Still Beating by Chloe Caldwell JUNE 8, 2011
There are days when I prefer the boys I baby-sit to the adult boys in my life.

A Catalog of Conversations I Haven’t Had With My Father by Courtney Maum MAY 30, 2011
On my sixteenth birthday, why did you take me to Mr. Gunthrup’s house and offer me his Vietnamese pot bellied pig as a surprise gift?

The Pen, The Man, The Moon by Marie Sabatino MAY 30, 2011
His name was Melvin Way, or Melvin “Milky” Way, or as he signed on the form to consent for our interview: Melvin, Whay., Way.

New Orleans Skin by Antonia Crane MAY 23, 2011
In 2009, New Orleans was rebuilding its spirit at the same time I was rebuilding mine. I never knew pre-Katrina New Orleans, only its aftermath: destruction and redemption on the bodies of crippled buildings; high water marks like blood on gravestones.

Sister Cities by Molly Rose Quinn MARCH 23, 2011
Memory flicks and flutters like water. What stays and what doesn’t: the events we began with blossom and then burst as new scenes come and go.

Getting Somewhere by Polly Bresnick MARCH 9, 2011
We take the subway to the Botanical Garden. We took it last Spring, too, on what must have been a Monday. It was one of those perfect, bright days that always makes my dad say, “This is the most beautiful day in the history of the universe.”

2001 by Nedda Alammar FEBRUARY 23, 2011
When I was growing up, my parents hated the idea of me driving. Anywhere. If I ever asked my parents to borrow the car, they would say, “But we just got home!” as if they were my chauffeurs bothered on their lunch break.

Non-fiction by Mary Barbour FEBRUARY 9, 2011
There’s something so cathartic about the month of January, isn’t there? Something about the sparkle of pure white snow, twinkling on windowpanes and glimmering off tree branhces; the promise of a fresh start; a clean slate; a new beginning.

Doo-Wop Prom by June Eding JANUARY 26, 2011
To say I was shy in high school is an understatement. Basically I couldn’t eat a sandwich in the cafeteria without feeling awkward. I was also kind of an old person. I liked to read. I watched public television. And I liked oldies music. A lot.

Cunt by Stephanie Mankins JANUARY 12, 2011
Not a consideration. Not even a consideration. I thought of you that night. It was late, but not yet dark, not quite. Had it been dark, black dark – no way. No way I’d have gone up there.

Kissing the Pavement by Ellen O’Connell DECEMBER 15, 2010
Somewhere in Soho, on a street corner that could have been on the northeast side of an intersection on Vandam or Broome, a woman lay dark among the December buildings.

Revival by Davita Westbrook DECEMBER 1, 2010
I didn’t hear the voices that night; I felt them. The tone was urgent, the words were indistinct. We were in revival at the old church. I was fourteen years old and all around me, folks had ‘caught the spirit’.