By Holly Aszkenasy / Nonfiction /     i. What is insomnia? Insomnia is boring. Dull to hear about and even more tedious to experience. It’s searching “where is joss stone now” at 3 a.m. (filming Instagram Stories about baking, is where, crooning softly to the camera Isn’t this delicious?  as she fingers a tray of vegan peanut butter brownies) and nervy, aching teeth, and the desire the following day to consume more fistfuls of sugary fruit than a fully grown bonobo. It’s fiel

By Wally Swist / Poetry /         I enter the ward and see you at the end of the long hallway sitting among others in their wheelchairs. When I reach you, I place my forehead against yours, and hear you whisper, “There are reflections everywhere.” After I move you to a quieter corner, I read Rilke to you and you respond to the poem about stars. I comb your long hair back so I can put on one of the colored headbands I brought. Today is dark grey, to harmonize with your blue pl

By Kory Wells / Flash /         At 12– One of my mother’s best friends—she has two, both named Nancy, and in this memory they blend together—picks me up after school. From the teacher’s parking lot. Usually I catch the bus. “Your mother’s doing okay,” she says. “It was benign.” Which means not malignant, I think. These words are only weeks old to me, and I have trouble remembering which is good and which is bad. It will be decades before I know they aren’t pure opposites. My