What She Left Me When She Left Me
WHAT SHE LEFT ME WHEN SHE LEFT ME BY HANNAH ANDREWS I’ve kept it safely tucked away, like a treasured antique, yet carried it with me always—and for over fifty years now—through ups and downs, through moves and marriages. It’s just an old shoebox, but she wrapped it in what is now vintage paper—cherubic cartoon infants, teddy bears, building blocks. She wrapped the bottom and the lid individually, so it can be opened without unwrapping.
Time Machine
Time Machine BY “Formerly Cocco” True Story! It’s Christmas Eve 2022 and no one has yet responded to my two thousand invitations to my Christmas dinner party. Not one! I’m feeling rather despondent about the holidays, and I can see my life up to this point has been somewhat of a failure. My 80-year-old adoptive father—who rarely, if ever, talks to me, perhaps because he doesn’t consider me his REAL son—suggests I attend the Christmas dinner at the local Salvation Army if I really want company.
Complicated Contradictions
COMPLICATED CONTRADICTIONS BY KAI HILL True self versus trauma self In the fog versus out of it. They ask “wouldn’t you rather…” Would non-adopted me be better? Would non-adopted me be worse off? I read somewhere that it’s not about better or worse, Life would simply be different But there’s nothing simple about it.
Adoption, The Unnatural Family
Adoption, the Unnatural Family BY ANN MIKESKA Once upon a time, there was a lady and man who started a baby. The lady kept the baby inside her body. Her heartbeat lulled the baby to sleep. Her voice soothed the baby. Her walking rocked the baby. Sometimes the lady cried, and the baby knew the lady was worried and afraid. This made the baby feel scared. The baby wanted the lady. The baby needed the lady.
Who Wants Rice?
WHO WANTS RICE? BY zhen e rammelsberg Each year, for the holidays, all the food at the table would celebrate and have a wonderful time. Gravy would pair with the mashed potatoes and sometimes the butter, turkey would be stuffed with celery, onions, and pieces of bread … pie would get whipped cream … ham had pineapples on it … green beans were mixed with several things in a casserole!
Firewalk
FIREWALK BY REBECCA COHEN Firewalk I The witch in the blue hockey bus. She of the round tarot cards, the friendly insults over backgammon, tea poured from the bill of a porcelain duck. Carol, with her broad open face, piercing blue eyes, and the long wiry black hair she sat on, now, across the tiny table from me. “You should come. It’s transformative,” she said, eyes dancing.
Anemoia Holiday
ANEMOIA HOLIDAY BY LORAH GERALD Where I grew up, there was usually snow for the holidays and it sparkled like crystals. I stared out the window as the street light glistened off it. Its beauty mesmerized me, drifting me into another world. In this place, I would see my family around a grand fir brightly lit with packages underneath. My mother would be there in a trendy dress of the time, her dark brown hair cut short.
Broken Hearts
BROKEN HEARTS BY DANIELLE ORR After several years of estrangement, my adoptive sister, who is now but a whisper of her pre-cancerous-self, decided to contact me. She has been snooping around my social media posts without me knowing, and she has decided to come out of the weeds after seeing that I have now found and met my biological father and two sisters. After texting back and forth for over a year, she bravely asked if she could visit me.
My Body is a Public Space
MY BODY IS A PUBLIC SPACE BY EJ CLARENCE my body is a public space come in through the spinning turnstile punch in your token validate your ticket to a public square this public road takes you somewhere so you can modify whatever you want that’s the deal when your name is a public space you can alter the look the feel go on take me I’m yours I’m anyone’s really, activate your services so my owners get their cut
Angel’s Lament
Angel’s Lament BY REBECCA COHEN Michael, I swear, some days I just want to rip off these wings, toss the halo, and go drive a bus or something. City bus, school bus—I don’t care. Drive a garbage truck. Easy work, shift work. You’ve got hours of every day off the clock, and two entire days every week you can do any damn thing you want without worrying about a goddamned thing. Simple job.
“Push! Push!” What Psilocybin Mushrooms Have Taught Me
“Push! Push!” What Psilocybin Mushrooms Have Taught Me BY JULIAN WASHIO-COLLETTE Everything I thought I knew about life I learned in my mother’s womb. It’s true! Before I was born, I fed on the knowledge of my impending abandonment, the end of me. I ate the ambient awareness of my rejection through what kept me alive, what nourished me, the very substance of my mother, body, mind, and spirit.