The Year God and I Became One

by James Ralston

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This piece is part of our Fall 2018 print issue.

James Ralston

James (Jim) Ralston lives on three and a half acres between Rocky Gap Creek and Evitts Creek outside of Cumberland, Maryland, a post-industrial town trying to find its way forward. This land and this Appalachian town are the settings for Lyrics for a Low Noon, to be published this spring by Blue Light Press in San Francisco. Ralston teaches English and Play Production at Blue Ridge Technical and Community College, Martinsburg, West Virginia. His publications include The Choice of Emptiness, The Appalachian Grammar Shop, and numerous essays and poems in the Sun: A Magazine of Ideas.

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The World According to Alpheaus

by Vernita Hall

Alpheaus L. Parnell, black British R.A.F. pilot, 1943-1946 In war there are two kinds of soldiers, my dad said: those who fight for a paycheck, and those who would rise for a cause. Be very afraid of the second one—too much to prove. My Jamaica-bred dad swapped crop dusters for Mosquitoes. There was one kind

Summer 2020

Taffeta. Lipstick. Stockings.

by Wendy Mnookin

My gym, all gussied up
with streamers, balloons

Summer 2013

Instruction

by Barbara Daniels

A woman who worked all night

wears her green hairguard

Spring 2011

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