You’re the last one standing.  You get the tears and the cheers, the hugs and the accolades.  You get to say how it all went down. The blood washes off.  The bones knit.  The muscles heal.  Tickertape parades follow.  

Dr. Cabot Mahler discovered a door deep in the bowels of Boston City Hospital while hunting for a spare bed to take a brief nap between shifts.

By design, I date a drunk. He passes out by eleven. I wriggle from his dead-weight arm and dress in loose-fitting jeans slung low on my hips and a tourniquet-tight T-shirt that shows a strip of flesh above the belt.

The soapbox prophets turn to bombs and the lines at the food pantries snake twenty blocks, but my…

Scott D. Pomfret's character is unsettled by the sound of a man crying in the neighbouring stall of a public…

The day before the Floyd verdict, Junior Dieujuste was confronting the terrifying fact that the collective fate…

I know you. You’re a swagger. A badass. Someone who went and got his mettle tested and returned…

Ian Grimm wanted to be part of the Boston Marathon bombing. “We’re all victims, Marcy,” he told his wife…

The comment on a post on the neighborhood community page reads: What we should all be doing…

Not to be outdone by the Catholic school kids, the Unitarian Universalist youth ministry set up a…

Kyle used to be pretty. He used to stop them in their tracks. He pretended he didn’t notice how mouths…

Picture the Valley where I was born. Hold it in your mind’s eye. Don’t let your mind blink, because you’ll…

You go because you long to be tested. You imagine there’s something over there that’s going to deliver…

My sister peers over my shoulder as if the intruder might yet be hiding in my apartment. “Again?”…

She leaned back against a bit of plywood spraypainted with hieroglyphics that had once…

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew exactly who she was: Alice. Pronounced Ah-LEE-chay, like the Italians…

The torched pages from Gar’s sketchpad tossed shadows this way and that against the filthy concrete…

We all do these things, these perfect, futile things, we’re trying to make a cut in a petrified landscape…

Scott and Dan shared no values concerning what mattered most: poetry, monogamy, straight guys…

I’ll come right to the point, since we have so little precious time left: I hate you with a passion. I want…