Online – GRUB STREET: Recent Episodes
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You see, my parents were always picky about their food. They wouldn’t eat this, they wouldn’t eat that. Very choosy. Which sometimes got them in trouble. That’s why it was particularly peculiar on Thanksgiving Day that they ate the whole meal themselves. My mother does not like turkey, but she ate the thing whole… My Read More
By Alexa Smith, 2018-19 Fiction Editor I performed a speedy pre-scan of Beth Ann Fennelly’s 52 micro-memoirs, Heating and Cooling. I stopped at page 63. The word Beyoncé caught my eye at the top right-hand side of the page. I knew this book and I would be great friends. I was curious to see where Read More
I have a gynecologist appointment today. I’m scared, strangely. And I’m just now realizing that I’m not scared of my doctor per say, or the sterile smell, or the plethora of expired magazines, or the bubbled-bellies of the women sitting next to me, or the crinkle of the paper under my naked lower half, or Read More
I am writing to ask if you’d like to dance again in the kitchen. I have never been much for a phone call, as you know. I was thinking I could bring boas and peacock flumes for our shoulders and the waists of our pants. All the times you’ve tried to teach me the Charleston Read More
Let’s speak of the grizzly bear in the middle of the room. Thick black rambutan branches dripping citrus under the sun. What extra powers are suppressed beneath? Lulling opponents to sleep with each bend against the wind. Hope is lost if you stare directly into the void because by then, arms will outstretch to consume Read More
Those of us hailing from that oddly shaped mid-Atlantic state haphazardly carved into the east coast of America are probably familiar with the strange phenomenon that coincides with traveling either north or south from our homeland. I’ve been as far as Massachusetts in one direction and the tip of Florida in the other. At a Read More
* Not the first time I loved you, just the first time I met you. Your breath like dead fish pickled in your alcoholism. Your knuckles raw from beating someone up the night Read More
Melt the gold between your palms and smear it on everything you love: your hips, your lips, the soles of your feet. This month I am sick of sand and sun and callouses; in my dreams I am new skin, tender and thin. The fluttering of my heartbeat rises in every place my angles meet, Read More
Leah and Cecelia, two teenage girls, sit buried in two chairs next to each other. They spend the entire time on their phones, not looking up. Brief pauses are taken between each dialogue break in which the girls continue scrolling through their phones. Leah: Did you see Beth got her hair cut? Cecelia: No. Let Read More
What am I if I am not a girl? The pulpy body of a dead sea mollusk, dissolving? Am I crunchy? The shell it left behind, Read More