Creative Nonfiction Archives

Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street by Amber Ken

October 26, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

A man knocked on the door to comment on what we were eating for dinner, ‘got cheese on that’, he said, ‘can I have some?’ We were eating spaghetti bolognese, and then rethinking our table’s proximity to the windows. Back when we lived in the flat that faced the street we were watching reality TV one summer night, the smell of cigarette smoke. It wasn’t hot enough to need the windows open. I turned my head, saw fat fingers wriggling through our letterbox as though taunting. We let our dog do the talking and ran to the bedroom. Back when…

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Channeling by Tyler Dempsey

June 10, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

Samuel Peters Brown—a stereotypically thin dude with disheveled hair and that beard-with-no-mustache combination of the late-1800’s—was a descendant of the Mayflower and what you might call “uber successful.” But it wasn’t his severe look that got him places. It was a history in ship-building and time in the House of Representatives for the state of Maine that led to his appointment from President Lincoln as Navy Agent in Washington D.C. And it was through Mr. Brown, millions of dollars’ worth of ships, guns, and naval war materials were purchased during the Civil War. He founded a town in his lifetime….

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Night Blues by Rae Callahan

May 26, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

I had been told not to work night blues. There were about thirteen party boats lined up in Belmar then, and I loved every one of them. I had spent the summer with Garafano, scrubbing boats in port until the decks came clean and the blood smell lifted. The other captains had seen enough. I could get on anywhere. That was the rule. The other rule was don’t work night blues. So I worked night blues. I pulled in with my yellow VW Bug, fresh off the lot, paint too bright for the dock. The guys noticed. They notice everything….

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NOTHING CAN BE DONE by Pham Thu Trang

March 10, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

The singing starts before dawn. Four or five in the morning, when the alley is still dark and narrow and holding its breath. The houses face each other across a strip of concrete barely wide enough for two motorbikes to pass without touching. Sound has nowhere to go here. It hits walls and comes back. She throws her doors open and sings. She is about twenty, maybe. I know she has a neurological condition—people say it quietly, with the tone that means explanation and permission at the same time. We have spoken before, in small ways—offering snacks, simple questions, asking…

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WITNESS by Katherine Shehadeh

February 18, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

Mustawteneen. Every summer I visit Palestine, I learn new words. Some force their way to the forefront, defining the summer the way “songs of the summer” take hold of collective consciousness in America. Wanting to put this summer’s defining words to paper while the ordeal is raw, I’ve moved outside to an overlooked corner of the home abutting an olive grove. Someone hammers at the metal shop across the street. It’s windy and hot, a typical August in Palestine. We’ve been in Silwad, a hillside village with a respectably-sized population of about 6,000, for four days. Our first morning in,…

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BLOND CANYON by Ariel McCleese

January 7, 2026 · Creative Nonfiction

It happened in four parts: 1. Driving on the 134, a whirlpool of leaves in the fast lane. Languid, suspension of air and oaks. 100 Animals! sound book shrill in the backseat. Mommy! Guess! A tapir? Lying in the lukewarm pool of the Los Angeles Zoo. Its heat radiant. Ladybug? A series of noises chosen at random, a constellation of voiceover sounds. A friend demonstrated once. The way she recorded Target commercials from her coat closet. Toucan? How does the color of its beak translate sonically? Mommy! Guess! Should I have taken her to school today? The car buffeting back…

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SWALLOW by Hannah Grieco

September 2, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

The pharmacist has to get the key, which is missing for the moment. The tech apologizes. It was hanging by the fridge in the back, just yesterday. He’s not sure where it went, but the pharmacist will find it as soon she finishes filling the Lithium prescription. “Just the 300 mg, right? You guys are pausing the 150s?” Yes, 300 mgs. Once in the morning and twice at night. We’re moving down from the larger dose, but if I say, “Yes, we’re going down in the dose permanently, I hope,” if I say, “So far we’re doing pretty well,” if…

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THE SYMMETRIES by Marshall Moore

August 27, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

A spider took up residence in my conservatory several months ago. It’s not enormous, half an inch in diameter, but I hate spiders. Winter loomed. Those were days of dread. A seasonal terror gnaws at people who live at northern latitudes as the sun sets incrementally sooner. Here in Cornwall, the exact time of sunset means little when clouds and rain can make it night-ish at three. Having a spider suspended overhead by the door, just over my clothes-drying rack, doesn’t help when my insides are already chewing themselves up over the darkness to come. My partner doesn’t hate spiders,…

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BIG STEVE HID WATER BOTTLES OF PISS BENEATH HIS BED by Matti Ben-Lev

August 4, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

He was used to being homeless. He was used to sleeping in his car in Philly parking lots. Once, he picked up a Tinder date, drove her 3 hours from Baltimore to Philly, rode around looking for his ex-girlfriend, didn’t find her, and only told his date the truth about his ex and why they drove to Philly on the car ride back. I don’t remember how she responded, but I think they went out a few more times. Big Steve unrolled cigarettes, made a bong out of a water bottle and a pen, hit tobacco out the window of…

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THE VIEW FROM BETHLEHEM by Robbie Maakestad

June 23, 2025 · Creative Nonfiction

Israel Defense Force (IDF) Soldier: “What the fuck are you doing?” Banksy: “You’ll have to wait until it’s finished.” IDF Soldier (to subordinates): “Safeties off!” —Banksy’s account of painting the West Bank wall, 2005 Blue and white guard rails shepherded us from a bus stop toward the low, sprawling Checkpoint 300 gate complex outside of Bethlehem where my friend and I planned to cross from Israel on foot into the West Bank. The imposing concrete West Bank wall stretched endlessly in both directions, reminding me of photos I’d seen of the Berlin Wall, although at 26 feet high, this…

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