Published Stories

Martina Preston 12/18/23 Martina Preston 12/18/23

December Speaks by Martina Preston

It wasn’t until I left my town that I began to learn its secrets. Winter break after my first semester in university, I drove home the back way and fell in love for the first time with the turns in the roads, the bareness of the deciduous trees on either side, river birch peeling and turning to slush in the canoes of the highway shoulder. I left my home behind and arrived at my house. I hadn’t started calling it “my parent’s house” yet. I wasn’t sure what to call it.

Katie Scott 11/20/23 Katie Scott 11/20/23

Twins by Katie Scott

There are memories of my life that, no matter how many times I recall them, they only play in slow motion. Though I know they happened at the speed of life, my memory willfully recalls them in seconds, stretched out to emphasize the fleeting moments, in an attempt to squeeze out every bit of reminiscence.

Judy Cuellar 7/18/22 Judy Cuellar 7/18/22

A Letter to Sekani Isaac by Judy Cuellar

This morning I woke up from dreaming or it was more like a visitation to another timeline of another version of my life. Somehow, I found myself lucid dreaming. I was telling you how I thought I should share about our abortion story. Funny thing… how the Divine eases us into the deep murky waters of the places we’ve convinced ourselves were a closed chapter.

John Maki 5/16/22 John Maki 5/16/22

The Yellow House by John Maki

Coming from apartments, the yellow house felt huge. The left split descended into a kitchen, dining room, and roughed-in area with plenty of room to play. The right ascended to the living room, bathroom, bedrooms, and a deck overlooking a lumpy dirt yard. The middle landing opened onto a small garage that would hold everything male: cars, bikes, lawn equipment, and later my father’s grief.