Stephanie Dickinson
Big-Headed Anna at the Ice Cream Social

Stephanie Dickinson - Big-Headed Anna at the Ice Cream Social

Fiction
Stephanie Dickinson is an Iowa native who lives in New York City’s East Village. Her novel Half Girl and novella… Read more »
Zana Previti
Caedra

Zana Previti - Caedra

Fiction
Zana Previti was born and raised in New England. She earned her MFA in fiction from the University of California,… Read more »
Annie Reid
Last Song

Annie Reid - Last Song

Fiction
Annie Reid is a double expat American currently residing in Sweden after a decade in Canada. She writes apocalyptic video… Read more »
Gabe Herron
Mr. Kimberk's Kindness

Gabe Herron - Mr. Kimberk's Kindness

Fiction
Gabe Herron lives outside a small town near Portland, Oregon with his wife, son, and daughter. He’s had a winning… Read more »
Eliana Ramage
Mr. Longley’s Paper Suns

Eliana Ramage - Mr. Longley’s Paper Suns

Fiction
Eliana Ramage holds a BA and MA in creative writing from Dartmouth College and Bar-Ilan University, respectively. A proud Cherokee… Read more »
Venita Blackburn
Ways to Mourn an Asshole

Venita Blackburn - Ways to Mourn an Asshole

Fiction
Venita Blackburn earned her MFA from Arizona State University in 2008. Her stories have appeared in Pleiades, Madison Review, Bat… Read more »

Big-Headed Anna at the Ice Cream Social

Stephanie Dickinson

1911. Basswood leaves powdered with dust overhang the courting couples and the table of sweet ices. Farm girls fragrant as peonies in their white mutton-leg-sleeves stroll the country church lawn. In stiff collars and middle-parted hair, the farm boys pitch horseshoes. I wear an apron and my wide-brimmed hat. Between scooping, my hands splash in the wash bowl. The ice cream I helped churn with rock salt breathes its cold kisses into the July heat. I know the seed swells inside me. I hum to myself as I pare the apricots thin and chop the ice fine. The horses unharnessed from the ice wagon graze the blue grass that thickens next to the creek. Couples share the stereoscope and view picture cards of faraway places. They spoon ice cream perfumed with orange blossom into each other’s mouths, they touch breath as they sort the picture cards. Snap snap goes the fingers of the pastor’s wife. Big-Headed Anna, fetch more ice, then more churning. Anna, we need the wooden crate brought from the water. I kneel next to the creek, fishing for the cream crate. A waggle of boys follows me. They skip stones at the tree stump in the… Read more »