My childhood best friend was beautiful. For many years, she had to wear a back brace. It gave her a dignified air, as if a string were attached to the top of her head, pulling her up tall. She glided ...

Inside my ribcage is a heart-leaf philodendron. She vines around each organ, springing forth new growth. Fresh green leaves by the day. She’s a stubborn bitch of a houseplant. I don’t water her. She d...

A Literary Magazine

Emily Rinkema lives in northern Vermont. Her stories have recently appeared in Cutleaf, Moon City Review, Milk Candy, and Wigleaf, and have been selected for Best Small Fictions, Best Microfiction, and Best American Nonrequired Reading anthologies. Read more at emilyrinkema.com/.

play without rules

Interview by Mandira Pattnaik...My mother died when I was 15 and it has really shaped so much of my life in ways that are still unfolding, good and bad, so this collection is part therapy, part tribut...

I noticed it first on Monday morning, wide awake at 4 a.m., right there in black and white on my phone app. 25 Across: Avian metaphor for a romantic couple (9 letters); 30 Across: Two of a kind (4 let...

The night Cory dies micro fiction by author Emily Rinkema. Published in Temple in a City literary journal Enter Leaving issue

I noticed it first on Monday morning, wide awake at 4 a.m., right there in black and white on my phone app. 25 Across: Avian metaphor for a romantic couple (9 letters); 30 Across: Two of a kind (4 let...

by Elissa Field...I eye one under glass in diesel green, iridescent like rainbows on petrol. Laser embossed handgrips in swirls of vining flowers. I’d fired yours at the range. First time I heard a sh...