Category:Prose

Ten Years Beneath A Lamp

David Hu

Creative Nonfiction
The train station was bustling with noise, the space filled with a constant flow of people. Wangbin stood quietly among them. He carried a cotton bag, containing his clothes, and clutching a small pouch in his hand, holding the notes…

Allowed to Love Loudly

Frankie Molfese

Creative Nonfiction
She had toyed with the thought repeatedly, the way little kids find a favorite toy to tinker with. During the quiet nights alone in her room, Lauren found herself turning the idea over and over in her mind. The walls…

Sound as Identity

Leonardo Riccardo

Creative Nonfiction
Istanbul, a city that normally never sleeps, felt like someone turned the volume down on life itself. The streets were empty. Shops were closed. No traffic. No crowds. No voices overlapping each other like they always did. The city didn’t…

The Parts of Her That Remained

Durry Adan

Creative Nonfiction
The doctor’s words were quiet but firm: cancer. For a moment, everything paused. The sound of a pen, the rustle of papers, the clock on the wall, all of it felt distant in the silence. Meher sat stiffly in…

Erasure

Jennifer Andrews

Prose
I think of snow and its properties—how quickly it can change from ice to sleet to rain and back again. How it can smoothdust your face and melt into you, like a hush. Or how, on days it has been…

Dottie’s and the Rabbit

Tyler R. Jenkins

Fiction
NOTE: The views and opinions expressed in this work of fiction do not reflect those of the author. It is raining. I knew the weather would be awful tonight, my app told me so. I don’t know how the app…

The Realities of a Young Woman Immigrating to America

Tiffany Columna

Creative Nonfiction
The fine Matcha powder sits in the creases of Hana’s palms. Frantically, she drops the bowl and instinctively bows in front of a veteran coworker, who ensures her it, “happens all the time.” Hana couldn’t find the words fast enough to apologize for her mess. She feels helpless and carefully sweeps up the broken shards of black ceramic as a sign of surrender. It wasn’t the same as back home in Osaka. She feels like a failure, struggling to piece together a new life.   Smoothing over her dirty apron, she wipes the tears from her cheeks. She walks over to the counter to ensure everything is in place. The creamer is in the refrigerator, the shakers are on the drying rack, and everything is set, except for Hana. After a few months in a new country, she feels immense pressure. They all speak another language. Even after five months, English is still as foreign as it was when she touched down in New York. She can’t seem to express her feelings in words others will understand. Frustration feels heavy on her shoulders, like boulders stacked upon her chest.   Immigration is a tumultuous journey, and for Hana, the language barrier keeps her from her potential. At work, she struggles to express herself and is ashamed of her failures. There are many difficulties with language proficiency, “…almost half of immigrants in the U.S. are not English proficient,” according to the George W. Bush Institute. ...