By Grant Jarrett / Nonfiction / Her mouth hangs open, her face is pale and pleated, her lips dry and crusty, like stale pastry. She is...

By Ashley Pattison-Scott / Nonfiction / In The Mother of Junk shop in Williamsburg, I stand very still. Yellow insulation hangs from a...

By Susan Knox / Nonfiction / I was a forlorn five-year-old in 1946 when we left the bungalow where I’d lived all my life. I loved that...

By Mara Adamitz Scrupe / Nonfiction / Arriving for my shift, I climb the stairs directly up to the low-ceilinged third floor. Once...

by Ber Anena / Nonfiction / My mother’s son is on his knees. In front of him sits a large millstone—its center slightly curved to keep...

by Juva / Nonfiction / My mother bristled in the doctor’s office as I questioned my pediatrician, but she didn’t say a word. Dr. Combs...

by Katy Van Sant / Nonfiction / Have you or any member of your family been the victim of a crime? That was the first question. Five...

by Aiko Fukuchi / Nonfiction / For months, every time I’ve started my shift at this martini bar, my heartbeat devolved from steady and...

by Anna Belle Kaufman / Nonfiction / When my four year old son was diagnosed with AIDS, I learned about secrets. ​ It was in August 1986,...

by Annette Higgs / Nonfiction / When you arrive she’s sitting in the grey armchair, chin on chest, sound asleep. The door is half-open;...

by Jack Cooper / Nonfiction / The chronological sorting of memories is an interesting challenge. My time then is distant and blurry,...

by Quizayra Gonzalez / Nonfiction / In one of those rare moments of childhood clarity, it struck me that the bodega was our family’s true...

by Terry Connell / Nonfiction / Three years after breaking up with Shelly, and only two weeks from finishing my student teaching, I found...

by Monica Woo / Nonfiction / If I’d had my father’s Leica camera, I’d have taken a picture of Dad every day of his life, 32,956 images...

by Brahna Yassky / Nonfiction / I open my eyes to a Priest hovering over me, making the sign of the cross. He is giving me last rites....

by Rachel Stempel / Nonfiction / My boyfriend is a better feminist than I am. He doesn’t frequent questionable categories on PornHub. His...

by Jeanne Althouse / Nonfiction / At the coffee shop where he took me afterwards, he played the Bach Toccata and Fugue in D minor on my...

by Alexander Lazarus Wolff / Nonfiction / First Grade It was the year my grandmother died. My parents’ descent into alcoholism followed....

by Janessa Vargas / Nonfiction / This cafe underneath the pho restaurant only exists as part of a recurring dream, the sequence of events...

by Amber Wong / Nonfiction / When I strode into the newly refurbished Roosevelt High School library that morning, Bryce jumped up –...