Avra Margariti
A Dog Like a Ghost

Avra Margariti - A Dog Like a Ghost

Fiction
Avra Margariti is a Social Work undergrad from Greece. She enjoys storytelling in all its forms and writes about diverse identities and experiences. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in… Read more »
David Urbina
Canta y no llores

David Urbina - Canta y no llores

Fiction
David Urbina is a writer and software developer from the San Gabriel Valley in Los Angeles County. He attended Mt. San Antonio College and graduated from the University of California, Berkeley with a… Read more »
Glen Pourciau
Encroach

Glen Pourciau - Encroach

Fiction
Glen Pourciau’s third collection of stories is forthcoming from Four Way Books in 2021. His second collection, View, was published in 2017 by Four Way Books. His first story collection, Invite, won… Read more »
Ellen Skirvin
How to Say Tomatoes

Ellen Skirvin - How to Say Tomatoes

Fiction
Ellen Skirvin was born and raised in Baltimore, Maryland. She recently received her MFA degree from West Virginia University. Her fiction appears in The Matador Review and the Anthology of Appalachian… Read more »
Yume Kitasei
Sara’s City

Yume Kitasei - Sara’s City

Fiction
Yume Kitasei (www.yumekitasei.com) lives in Brooklyn with two cats, Filibuster and Boondoggle. Her stories have been published or are forthcoming in publications including Room Magazine and Forge… Read more »

How to Say Tomatoes

Ellen Skirvin

Dad and I walked to Uncle Sal’s house on the Fourth of July to watch the parade from his front yard. He lived on the other side of Meadowbrook Elementary, but we only saw him on important holidays, and Fourth of July was the most important of all in our town. People came from all over, even the city, to see the parade on Main Street and fireworks at the high school. They dragged coolers and strollers in the late-morning heat. I pretended it was the apocalypse and the whole town was marching toward safety before the aliens got us.

“Let’s go, Pearl,” Dad said, waiting a block ahead of me. He looked clean and strange in his pink shirt. He said it wasn’t pink but salmon colored. I asked him if that meant white was tilapia colored, but he said of course not.

Dad and I had dyed old T-shirts red and blue that week, because that’s what Mom used to do, but Dad didn’t get the expensive dye or wash the shirts right, so they came out brown and splotchy. Though he didn’t wear his tie-dye shirt, I wore mine because brown was my favorite color and… Read more »