Creative Nonfiction

By Sydney Lea
This guy from the Nether­lands grated on me and on all our doc­tor­al peers when­ev­er, with his heavily accent­ed but perfect English, he held forth in our Euro­pean Lit­er­a­ture class.

Silent Night Cre­ative Non-Fiction By Ariel Ambers           I know what a church pew feels like; to sit on, to touch, to be watched by. I know that even the most com­fort­able of pews can feel cold. Just because it’s been…

Things I Wanted to Say are Locked Behind the Uvula Cre­ative Non-Fiction By Juheon Rhee           So when I didn’t say the things I wanted to say, I had hoped you would know. Do you remem­ber? You’ll shake your head. We’ve become…

Smoke Out of the Jar Cre­ative Non-Fiction By Nuala O’Connor           In my child­hood home, dif­fi­cult things were stored like smoke in a tight- lidded jar. Hurts, ills, and prob­lems were a visible miasma through the glass, but they would sit in…

CREATIVE NONFICTION By Kerry Neville “Next to being married, a girl likes to be crossed a little in love now and then. It is some­thing to think of, and it gives her a sort of dis­tinc­tion among her com­pan­ions. When is your turn to come?…

By Nadja Maril I lift the turquoise and purple shawl out of the storage drawer and drape it over my shoul­ders. The caress of the soft yarn against my skin trans­ports me to an earlier time and place. I hear the click­ing and buzz of insects through…

CREATIVE NONFICTION By Amy Schein­er You’re with me on those summer days, all the windows down and the moon roof open, the sun strong enough to warm our skin but not so strong as to blind us. Your kalei­do­scop­ic bracelets reach­ing from wrist to elbow…

CREATIVE NONFICTION By Rachael Hanel You’ll need strength to do this. * You see the bodies around you, beau­ti­ful in their power, the way legs float effort­less­ly up into the air and achieve sir­sasana, head­stand, for many breaths. You want that power and beauty, too. *…

CREATIVE NONFICTION By Jocelyn Heath My father calls to tell me that he has to give up swim­ming. His shoul­ders started aching awhile back, but he went on swim­ming until the pain buried itself so deep in his joints, espe­cial­ly at night, that he went…

CREATIVE NONFICTION By David Blis­tein In the fall of 1965, my family moved into a small, gray-shin­­gled house in Prov­i­dence, Rhode Island, whose main dis­tin­guish­ing feature was a bright yellow front door. It was in a mixed neigh­bor­hood, which—in the 1960s, in that part of…