I spend a great deal of my time looking and longing for quiet. I am bad at appreciating the mundane, in-between, nonsensical happenings of life because sometimes I simply do not know how to enjoy them. It is a struggle
Next to a table stands a beautiful woman with blond hair and a dark tan, naked except for a Confederate flag wrapped around her chest. She rests one hand on her cocked hip and with the other holds a glass of iced tea. Beneath her
by Carrie Allen Tipton Ever since the advent of text messaging several years ago, my mother faithfully sends a peculiar annual dispatch, a yearly version of the phrase “I’m headed to Glory tonight,” hurtling through the ether from her phone in northwest Mississippi
With short, shuffling steps and a rocking gait, he made his way from the end of Main Street through the parking lot of Walker’s Drive-In, carefully placing his cane, navigating the roots of the giant oak that had erupted through the crumbling asphalt. His Sunday best sagging over his bent frame and a gray fedora on his head
The 1,500 miles between my dorm room in Rhode Island and my parents’ house in Mississippi made visits difficult. Though I flew home for Thanksgiving my freshman year, I gently explained to my mom that the appalling price of the ticket seemed a bit excessive to attempt four years in a row. And so the following Thanksgiving,
It can be easy to think these days that everything has already been discovered, and not only that, digitized too — that all the books have been scanned and the rivers charted, leaving not a square inch of Terra Incognita on Google Earth. But anyone who has done any kind of archival research knows otherwise
by Kayla Smith Sometimes when I hear people with southern accents, I almost wish my own were stronger. It’s not because of a desire to sound southern so much as because I don’t want people to think I’m intentionally trying not to.