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January 2018

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Erin Slaughter | Non Fiction

My mother has always been cautious, too, but as I’ve witnessed it, her fear is rooted in motherhood; a fear of loss, occasionally irrational, but almost always directed at the safety of her children.

Ingrid Nelson | Fiction

In high school Marian said to me about my favorite author, George Eliot. “Isn’t that just an old British man?” smiling like her mouth was a knife.

Leslie-Ann Murray | Non Fiction

A week after Trump was elected, I purchased a one-way ticket to Paris. I thought of staying in America, fighting for justice, equality, education, and democracy like the millions of people who’re resisting. But I chose personal sanity and it was only afforded through escape.

Maddy Raskulinecz | Fiction

Jacob was trying to be alone with the alligator when his mother called him into the house for dinner. His mother didn’t know a thing about it; she didn’t even know the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.

Marianna Nash | Fiction

We walk past the old tenement where Anya’s great-aunt still lives, claiming the hole she tore in the world. Imagine if we all moved into Columbia Presbyterian! Someone probably has.

Chris Campanioni | Non Fiction

What does this say about me? Except for that I don’t mind pain, enduring pain, so long as it’s in view of others.