Two Essays

Essay by

Dad knows no other way to teach you Indians aren’t magical or mystical, despite what the T.V. and the teacher who made you read The Indian in the Cupboard has taught you.More

The Unlovables

The Unlovables

Fiction by

I felt like kicking in the console or grabbing the steering wheel and driving us off the road, but instead I reset my thoughts on the owner of the Harvard sweatshirt.More

Wild/Life

Wild/Life

Essay by

Traveling Mexico has its own challenges. So why do I always want to crank the danger up to 11?More

One Bird In-Hand is Worth Ten in the Bush

One Bird In-Hand is Worth Ten in the Bush

Fiction by

My grandma was glaring at Trixie’s fixings willing her to lie in the neat bed she’d made. Pearl was lying on her back with that piece of wood in her mouth. She was dusty and had her straw bedding stuck to her in small patches, some on her underbelly. All of her paws were outstretched to the sky. She was letting the piece of wood fall from her mouth and recatching it. Trixie’s phone was face-up flat on the dining table. The phone rang and we all looked to her expecting it to be Croker. Trixie quickly silenced it. More

Notorious Thugs

Notorious Thugs

Fiction by

As soon as we finished packing up our 40s, and taking our open bottles along for the ride, we were headed to the cornfields, our commute narrated by The Notorious B.I.G.More

Mile 183

Mile 183

Fiction by

Her sigh woke us—Dad from his silent, attentive driving, and us from our screens in the backseat. More

Two Stories

Two Stories

Fiction by

We’re at it again. On our weekly phone call. Me at the bottom of the world. Her, near the top.More

Incompatible with Life

Incompatible with Life

Essay by

Clementine died on November 22nd, 2017. She was born three days later on the 25th at 7:35 in the morning. She weighed 36 grams and was 6.5 inches long and I will spend every day of my life missing her and wondering about the person she may have become. More

August Children

August Children

Fiction by

It’s always the past we want to visit, never the future. Sure, people say they want to see what’s ahead of them, but is that really what they want? Or are they just running from the present because what they have always wanted is already gone?More

Eat Fire

Eat Fire

Fiction by

I slip on the heavy gloves again and hurl that sparking, spitting, burning motherfucker into the hopper, followed by a garbage can full of thin wrappings that stoke the flames, and now the back of our truck is a flaming mouth, nice and angry. More

Shadow Boxing

Shadow Boxing

Fiction by

An older man’s confrontation in a gym parking lot leads to consequencesMore

A Road Disappearing

A Road Disappearing

Fiction by

“His heart is as pure as gold. And really, shouldn’t that be the only thing that matters?”More

Time on the Water

Time on the Water

Fiction by

Not every man gets a chance to really fuck things up one last time.More

The Pups

The Pups

Fiction by

The woman knows why her husband stands with the door open, all of winter behind him. He does it to remind her to stand herself, to stretch her legs and walk with him back to the house. She ignores him and stays kneeling before the pups.More

The Chair

The Chair

Fiction by

I don’t make a lot of money, so I don’t buy nice things.More

Pinned

Pinned

Fiction by

A man lay pinned under his overturned snowmobile, the weight of it spread across the backs of his legs. The left leg felt broken—electric hot despite the cold.More

“The car had been through a reconstructed transmission, a busted carburetor, and was an absolute lush for Valvoline.” – Jordan Farmer, “Brothers”