by Heather Morton

From an early age I longed to dwell in the realm of story. Through novel reading, imaginative play, and privately concocted stories,

by Basira Harpster

I put an ad in the county paper: House Wanted with room for garden, for woman with one good dog. Wood heat OK, no plumbing necessary….

by Jeannine Marie Pitas

My Not-Daughter

I try to become your mother by signing on a line. First, I must cross two languages. Ixil is a coat that surrounds you, protecting you from the white walls' coldness, the waiting rooms, and questioning eyes.

Finding Hope in the Existential Time Warp of Acedia 

by Nicole M. Roccas

When acedia “creeps over the heart of a monk,” wrote John Cassian in the early fifth century, “he looks about anxiously this way and that . . . and frequently gazes up at the sun, as if it was too slow in setting, and so a kind of unreasonable confusion of mind takes possession of him like some foul darkness, and makes him idle and useless for every spiritual work” (Institutes 10.2).