By Maria Capezio Crookes I am often asked about my immigrant experience, about the things that I miss, the things that I don’t, and if I’d move back home. My answers have been a variation of, “Of course, I miss my family and friends, my people.” Or “I would move back, so my kids can grow closer to their cousins.” For many years I believed those words. After some time, I’d smile while answering with the usual polite platitudes, feeling the leap in my heart telling me I was full of it. Yes, you miss your family, but you wouldn’t move back, my heart would say, while my brain would…

By Jordan Hales Spring is the time to reset, recharge, and reflect as the earth begins to thaw. The birds chirp in twitter-pation. The trees bud at the sign of warmth and sunshine. It’s breakup season. Dirt and rocks and salt and trash galore. Spring is a sign of hope, or it’s supposed to be, anyway. The darkness is enveloped by light. Pushing it back, back, back. Spring is a refresh, or it’s supposed to be, anyway. Spring is a reflection.    Reflection on everything over the years, not just the past year. January to March is a tricky time. Is? Was? It’s hard to tell—ask me again tomorrow. Memories are…

By Maisy Morley Back at home, we live almost completely alone. Our house is tucked away on a windy driveway, pushed back into the forest so deep that you can barely see between the trees. Our neighbors consisted of a strange couple across the street and our three quiet chickens that rummaged around our yard, like New York pigeons. I have only interacted with that strange couple three times: twice when they pulled out of their driveway so quickly they almost hit my parked car, and once when they hollered at us to come pull the trapped silver salmon out of the mud flats.  The day was warm when my…

By Mara Lorch Every barefoot step, skip, or hop within the plum tree’s reach was a risk. As an eight-year-old with a sprinkler wiggling across the grass on a summer’s day, I bounded freely, with shoes and sensibility so far behind my mind, they may as well have fallen out when I somersaulted into the sweet July sunshine. Purple stains the wooden porch, the hands picking, and the feet dancing. The size of a cherry, these plump plums were best eaten whole. Their skin appeared a lilac gray until a fingerprint smudged the matte surface away, uncovering their dark purple shine. A yellow flesh juiced out once bitten, sticking to…

By Destiny B. Key Being within Alaska’s nature has always been my definition of “home”. I refuse to call any place “home” because I know my home is Alaska. It’s in the waterfalls off the side’s of the Seward Highway, it’s in Whittier at the Salmon Creek run, it’s in the view of the Sleeping Lady and it’s in the Matanuska Glacier. Immersing and submitting to Alaska’s flora, fauna and salmon filled cool waters always felt beautifully natural. It’s apart of me and it’s a part of who I am, even to this day, being far from the land I am most familiar with. 

By Maria Capezio Crookes You see, a mate is like a period and a space. You take one and then you can start a new paragraph. -Julio Cortazar, Rayuela Mate (pronounced Mah-teh) is a traditional South American drink, brewed from the dried leaves of Yerba Mate (Ilex paraguariensis) in hot water, served in a dried hollow gourd, and briefly steeped. The drink is sucked from the gourd with a metal straw, which is fitted with a strainer at one end to keep leaf particles from the mouth (Encyclopedia Britannica). *** Drinking mates is ceremony. You can’t hurry it up. There is not such a thing as “let’s drink some quick…

By joe The Banana Lena was a sport competitive host. It was my buddy Jim’s first visit to the house, and after a couple days he didn’t look too good.  So I said , “Jim what’s up?” He said, “I can’t eat another thing. I think your mom is trying to kill me.” I handed him a banana and instructed him, wherever you go hold this banana in your hand and when my mom insists on getting you something to eat show her the banana and say, “No thanks, Mrs. Sarcone, I was just going to eat this banana.” The Biscotti Lena was on her death bed so I said,…

By Samuel Henderson Have you ever stood atop a remote mountain and wondered how many other humans have stood there before you? There’s something truly unique and special about standing in a precarious location looking down upon nothing but raw nature, -not a soul insight. For that moment standing atop a mountain peak, you have a completely unique view that changes ever so quickly with the weather. Standing on the summit of a large mountain is a time limited gift, often well earned through your own physical, mental, and emotional strength. Throughout history large mountains have been natural barriers, borders for both weather and invading militaries alike. They can offer…

By Jordan Hales How do you know what to write? Where do the ideas come from? From what is your inspiration pulled? Do you stare at the wall until it tells you what to write? Do you ask Pinterest for writing prompts? Do you wait until someone tells you what to write? How do you know what to write? How does an artist decide what to paint? How does a songwriter find her muse? How does an architect know where to start? How does a dancer know which way to move and shape their body? How does a writer know what to write? How do I—as a writer—know what to…