SUZY VITELLO • SUMMER/FALL 2017
In the minutes before dark turns to sky, bird call assaults you. How can life go on all normal? Nature proceeding per usual. Human activity resuming. Ka-wrrrrr, from the kitchen. A coffee bean grinder? “Damn it!” you hear. The fuses again. You squeeze your boy against the lump of unborn child. People. People. So many people. Today and tomorrow and the next day there will be a lava flow of arms and lips and voices.
KAYLIE JONES • SUMMER/FALL 2017
My 10-year-old daughter stepped off the school bus with tears streaming down her face, her entire body shaking. I dropped to my knees on the pavement and threw my arms around her as she stood there sobbing. I had never seen her quite so upset so I just held her, no idea what to do, asking her over and over what was wrong. Finally she stepped back and started dragging herself up the avenue. At the corner I reached for her hand and she did not pull away.
ADAM ARMSTRONG • SUMMER/FALL 2017
I’m in search of the perfect candle. My task is daunting. (When is searching for a pleasant candle not?) But I feel up to the challenge. I’ve finally moved to Los Angeles, after scooping up my bachelor’s degree a couple months earlier, and tonight I have vowed to christen my apartment with my first West Coast Grindr hook up.