Nonfiction Nina Boutsikaris
So we stayed on the trail and followed it down through the brush and over a rushing stream with soaked stones the color of chicken skin. Above us, the snow-capped peak of Tangariro wore a halo of steam. It was cold when the sun went behind the clouds and the wind...
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Nonfiction Kirk Wisland
In the end, there is just me: a twenty-nine year old Minnesota Man careening along the interstate, heading back east to Saint Paul on a humid August Friday three weeks before 9/11, sloshing around the car in guilt and shame and nauseous self-loathing, cracking the window, pulling out the unused condoms...
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Nonfiction Belen Lopez
They emerged in the spring: three little newborn pockets of wisdom that did not settle into place until June. In the time between they rose to the height of molars and sunk into bloody caverns...
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Nonfiction Kat White
1. Go into bathroom
2. Lights on
3. Shut door
4. Lock door
5. Tie back hair
6. Take off glasses, if wearing
7. Take off shirt
8. Take off rings on right hand
9. Turn on water in sink
10. Lift up toilet lid
11. Lift up toilet seat
12. Bend over
13. Start with two fingers in throat
14. Hand in throat,...
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Nonfiction Ed McCarthy
We’ll never sit down and talk. Chances are that the trajectory of our lives will push our paths further apart, not cause them to intersect. You will never come to know the way that I’ve wronged you...And in these moments, my conversation with you, Paula Abdul, goes something like this...
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Nonfiction Ben Wilkins
God of Ants is a comic that speculates about very small creatures and their much larger, perhaps spiritual, implications. It dares to ask that eternal question no one has thought to ask: Which is better - ants or squirrels?
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Nonfiction Rick Lamplugh
On the red brick walkway outside our front door, I look up and see that the mist, so ethereal an hour ago, is rapidly vanishing. The sun, a bright white spotlight between a tall fir and a taller cedar, burns some of the chill off this September morning...
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Nonfiction Amy Monticello
When I was fifteen, my father re-enlisted in a war I didn’t know he had been fighting. He wanted to move back to the north side, he said. Back to the steeple of St. Anthony’s, to the brick ovens at Rossi’s Pizza, to tomato vines climbing plywood stakes in five gallon buckets,...
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Nonfiction David Joiner
It’s February and we’re standing beneath a gray, birdless sky. Arm in arm eating mangosteens purchased from a wrinkled old man in a woolen hat and heavy coat. He speaks to us when we leave but we don’t understand his words. Perhaps he’s seventy years old but she thinks that he’s younger...
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