selected by Sara Crowley

The Sandwich Judge

“There aren’t any sandwiches here worth eating,” you say kind of angrily, and there may not be, I’m not arguing. I’m not saying there are or there aren’t; I’m n...

Dating Profile

I don’t like endings. I prefer to be alone when I cry, but everyone I am close with has sat near me while I wept. People divulge their secrets to me before I kn...

Sleep Disturbance

They say we’re primates, but you looked like a bear as you padded through the blue light of my neighbourhood, naked. Through a slat in the blinds, I saw your ha...

What They Know

Checking her face in the mirror, she feels him move behind her, his attention absorbing the space between them. “What?” she says. He doesn’t answer, turns to ...

The Boots

A 1977 divorce was trailblazing, and a custodial father was positively extraterrestrial. I was six. A serpentine driveway tethered our farmhouse to the count...

Sapphires

You realize suddenly that you are made of sapphires. It is the middle of the night and the wind shuffles across the complex lawn and the fridge hums and the ...

Shadow Puppetry

That was the summer I had an affair with the girl who collected shadows. You might think she was doing it for some deep and meaningful reason (an art project, m...

We Are Part of This

I We sit in our circle of twelve, working on our dolls, the dinky central fire doing its best against the April damp. Then Greta puts on her robe and leaves t...

Communion

I wake with my period, first since the miscarriage. I wake to the sound of my daughter Lucy talking to herself with her Barbies, saying troubling little things....