Two Stories by Nicole Brewer

It started with the socks. I keep my socks in pairs         but         he hated to match them, see, preferred to have the left one complement the right            compliment, we’d joke           looking nice today, rightie. I’d mismatch my pedicures               looking nice today             but kept my socks in pairs. Kept my socks grey and white and black and sometimes argyle              always in pairs—             I sell junk to multi-millionaires, I’d say, I can’t just have mismatching socks.

Read More

Between Breaths by Nadja Lubiw-Hazard

 Inhale. I take a deep breath in through my nostrils. The air travels through the cartilaginous rings of my trachea, divides at the bifurcation of the bronchi, rushes down smaller and smaller pathways. It expands my lungs, widening my ribcage, stretching my diaphragm, raising my collarbones. Seconds pass before I release the breath, letting it stream out slowly, whispering away to nothing. Exhale.   

Read More