Walking home around 4PM last fall, I spotted a can in the middle of the sidewalk. Strikingly silver and apparently full, since it wasn’t blown over. No logo, no nutrition facts, no label, only the reflected sun and these words, in shaky black Sharpie: CUM CAN, PLZ DRINK.
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Bermuda grass is a weed, in my mind. Something unwanted, with a root system extending 35 feet down into the bowels of the wash that runs through my neighborhood. A friend told
It’s easier and faster to cross into Mexico on foot. Park on
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 80 Nonfiction Contest, selected by Melissa
They call you Bella. It’s the name you chose from the film Belladonna of Sadness. At the strip club, where you can tell them what they call you, but not how they
Acronicta leporina It’s late April in Bisbee and the sun is in the wrong place over the Swisshelm mountains for the kind of hot it is. The perry penstemons in the yard
“Call me back as soon as you get this,” the woman said on my voice mail, her voice tense. She was the director of Korean adoptions at the agency we had used
History of present illness—A 45-year-old male with no significant past medical history. His symptoms initially beganon Sunday with left ear pain and tooth pain. Also on Monday, he developed a rash over
I’m Jane Doe. Isn’t that what we call the unidentifiable dead, those silenced souls that no one nearby recognizes? I have, of course, another name, but for a long time, Jane Doe
A cinematic image of nostalgia is a double exposure, or a superimposition of two images. The moment we try to force it into a single image, it breaks the frame or burns
In the kitchen of the Rodehouse at the Rodeway Inn, I start at the bottom of the food chain: dishwasher. It’s challenging work, about as glamorous as it sounds, and I go
Jaimeson Oakley (He/They) is a trans/queer writer from the hills of Lucasville, Ohio. He is currently a poetry student of the Northeastern Ohio MFA creative writing program at Kent State University. They
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 80 Nonfiction Contest, selected by Melissa Faliveno “My first reaction to most things is, ‘Fuck this, fuck you, this is bullshit,’” I said. My therapist blinked.
It arrives on my doorstep and I unbox the thing like it’s radioactive, and for all I know, it could be. The wonders of modern medicine are beyond me, and bad news
