The older generation of course, they didn’t teach their kids about the horrors of Stalin, because they didn’t want them to have that memory.
(Dispatches from Ukraine)
Category: Nonfiction
Now I remember it like a dream, but it was terrible.
(Dispatches from Ukraine)
The rage rolls out of my gut like a stream of regurgitated frogs, leaving me purged and primed for violence.
(nonfiction)
This is the first piece in our new DEBUT section, which showcases the first literary work published by a writer, beyond a campus-only magazine.
“There were no pens allowed at Carrollton Springs because of the possibility of someone hurting themselves with one”
(nonfiction)
I began my story. I told him I was born in Italy and moved to Venezuela when I was eight years old.
(nonfiction)
With every photo either zoomed in or close-up, I tend to forget how small they are. Nudibranchs range from four millimeters up to 520 millimeters.
(nonfiction)
Too big, too small, just right? Pillows for lovers. Erogenous zones. Never used for feeding babies. Strap them down when they get in the way. Pinup worthy, so I once was told. Now they’ll be diminished, I’m leaving a part of me in the past.
(nonfiction)
But the answer, I like to think, is that the Raven Grill offers not so much “nevermore” but “furthermore.”
(nonfiction)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“Folklore across the African diaspora maintains that captive Africans were born with the ability to fly.”
(nonfiction)
The latest in our FORTHCOMING series of excerpts from new books
“No, I went through one marriage,” Aunt Mildred insisted to the jury of her siblings. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
(nonfiction)
I trip on cobblestones sticking out of the earth like busted tombstones.
(nonfiction)
He knew the affair he was having with the composer, that it should have been me.
(nonfiction)
For a few years we took turns breaking each other’s hearts, casting each other away, reeling each other back in.
(nonfiction)
Can a town named Phoenix rise from the ash?
(nonfiction)
Beneath the tree, grasses of pale yellow and green commingle to create a neon shade reminiscent of Mello Yello, a soda from my childhood….
(nonfiction)
I was in Colorado because seventy-plus hour workweeks punctuated by martinis had swallowed me whole.
(nonfiction)
“Nature is healing,” says a small tin sign in front of a dried up cornfield.
(nonfiction)
As the world began to open again, we were proud. We’d done a good job. Then you came.
(nonfiction)
Those smuggled copies of Interview and The Witching Hour that I took with me and read and reread in the suffocatingly dark and overly zealous world that was my conversion therapy experience got me from one moment to the next.
(nonfiction)
“It could be that our hearts beat in perfect alignment. Yet, it does not seem that Paul and I ever could have aligned ourselves so precisely.”
(nonfiction)
In New Zealand, we don’t do class warfare like the British do, although we bring it with us. Ours isn’t as refined. But it’s just as complex and many times more insidious.
(nonfiction)
I mentioned the most important aspect once we were out of the taxi and waiting for the electric-blue bus: never fall asleep. The ride’s purpose was not to get comfortable or distracted.
(nonfiction)
We were excited to go to Ukraine
because we were promised a disco night in Donbas organized by a local Young Pioneer
group, a junior division of the Communist Party.
(nonfiction)
In a text to a friend, months after the last time I see her I say, “She still has my heart.”
“You’ll want to get that back,” he says.
(nonfiction)
After the death of University of Iowa nonfiction force Carl Klaus, three writers reflect about his impact and influence.
(nonfiction)
I wonder if we’ve grown increasingly desensitized to the number of severe weather events we face in a destabilizing climate. Even those of us directly affected think of it as an anomaly, unlikely to happen again—at least to us.
(nonfiction)
I might have pounded on the door or tried to break the window or loudly insisted on the key. And I might have awakened an angry, unbalanced and much stronger man.
(nonfiction)
Transit Authority regulations required drivers, young and old, to wear bland gray ties around the collars of our bland gray uniform shirts in addition to gray regulation sweaters and jackets, but after checking in for our routes for the day and transfer books many of us hotshots replaced our ties with tropical bandanas as a way of putting a little color into the city’s frequent gray days.
(nonfiction)
Another Chicago Magazine 