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 May 2024

Recent fiction

by Amy Cameron

Olives on Wood Background

Photo Source: Wix

Recent nonfiction

by Meg LeDuc

Recent fiction

by Jessica Treadway

Recent Interview

by Mount Hope

by Kate Blakinger

     I began to date someone new while I grieved a friend who’d died suddenly. When my date came over to cook for me, he brought basmati rice, bulbs of garlic, artichoke hearts, and saffron, the most expensive spice you can find in a supermarket, each red thread plucked by hand from the center of a purple flower. He was making vegetarian paella. I’d been happy in Spain, and he wanted to put that country’s flavors back onto my tongue—silky roasted red peppers, paprika and briny olives, and the sweet, bitter, cut-hay flavor of the saffron that would stain everything it touched gold.

     We hardly knew each other. We’d been dating for just over a month. Still, he knew I wouldn’t feed myself, not adequately. I subsisted mainly on liquids at this time: brothy soups, juice, popsicles, maybe some cereal, soggy with milk. The least food-like food.

     Grief-stricken people are consumed with hunger: a visceral, painful longing for the person lost. Actual food, though—so unappetizing. The offerings friends and family brought sat in the refrigerator until they’d furred over with mold.

     It didn’t help that I hated my kitchen. Not because of the deficient counter space or lack of a dishwasher, or even the gas range that sometimes leaked rotten wafts of gas even when all burners were shut off.

     The friend I mourned had died in that kitchen. Cooking or eating there took me back to that night: her gray face, the way her body shook, the circled paramedics applying the defibrillator paddles.


Recent poetry

by Fiver Lewis

Recent nonfiction

by Aharon Levy

Recent fiction

by Spencer T. Wilkins

Recent fiction

by Karris Rae

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