NONFICTION


Acadia National Park: A Confession

by CHRISTOPHER JOHNSON

When I was in my thirties, I was an Angry Young Man. I was wrathful, irate, mad, sore as a crab, waxy, hot under the collar, raging, fiery, wrought-up, fuming, foaming, in a red-hot passion, in a pucker, in a huff, in high dudgeon, infuriated, furious, hopping mad, rabid, foaming at the mouth.


The Sins of the Fathers

by CANDACE R. CRAIG

What Faustian bargain was made to set a river ablaze? How apocalyptic it must’ve seemed in the children’s eyes. But it didn’t often strike their parents this way. For most, this was the price of industry . . .


Weathering the Storm

by REBECCA BEVANS

And I, small being caught in this woolly mess, retreated further into myself, until I was a speck within the body of a girl who was still somehow crouched in lightning position on a sleeping mat inside a flimsy tent at the bottom of Tin Cup Pass.


Cacophony of Quitting

by SEAN PRENTISS

Each one of us shouting our two-minute notice, each crying what
we most want from that other world [a bacon cheese burger] [a
hot shower] [a swim in a river] [a long night’s sleep] [a boy- or
girlfriend nearby] until this cacophony of quitting fills the air
& steals, for one moment, all our savage fatigue.


Working Resonance: Concerto for Guide Dog, Handler, and World

by EMILY K. MICHAEL

 In darkness, the audience rises, applauding the last performance of the evening. Before I can bang my hands together with wild abandon, I slide my guide dog’s leash back over my arm,into the crook of my elbow. My companion rises from his prone position and assumes a dignified sit, scanning from left to right. He recognizes the applause as a signal for our imminent departure.


The Space Between: On Climate Change and Haiku Perception

by JESSE CURRAN

The snow is melting
and the village is flooded
with children.


Two Ways to Take

by NICHOLAS LITTMAN

When I stepped into a commercial maple forest for the first time, I thought I had come into the wrong place. The maples were there—gray and leafless in their winter drab—but it was what stretched over the snow between them—the miles of black and blue plastic—that made me uneasy. It wasn’t their ugly straight lines or their artificial tautness that unsettled me. It was the idea of what they were replacing.