Salon Zine: All Non-Fiction

By Ben Tanzer There was this boy with his head in your lap. Which is not exactly what it sounds like, though depending on how

By Kari Nguyen It is October 2013. Quintessential New England fall. Our afternoon walk is slow as we pass under trees already turned for the

By Jennifer McGaha Admittedly, the Midwest is an unlikely place for a pilgrimage. In the vast and wide-open landscape, one doesn’t have the sense so

By Brian Gersten Between I-295 and the Penobscot Bay, past the Hussey’s General Store sign that reads “Guns – Wedding Gowns – Cold Beer”, down

By Michael Copperman We did not speak of the tragedy, but we came together as we often don’t manage in busy weeks.  My Japanese mother

By Dean Kostos Trees along the highway spiraled through the eyepiece of my kaleidoscope—our car speeding home to Cinnaminson, New Jersey. Mom and Dad had

By Ilana Garon Her name was Felicia, and she was my student during my second year teaching public high school in the Bronx, when I

By Alisa Slaughter It’s late; I’m listening for the marauding bear. Maybe it’s because the summer is so cold this year in Oregon and things

By Jessica Machado In the seventh grade, I asked my father to take me to see Winger, a glam rock band whose greatest hit, “She’s

BY MIRA PTACIN Nicole Carpenter used to go through my city like a walking middle finger. She fought, smoked, dipped, drank and skipped school, and

BY ANNABEL SMITH We arrive in the nameless village early, when the morning light is still thick and golden, marred only by the dark smudge

The Quest for Punk Rock on the Road to Ruin BY CHRIS GRILLO It must have been ‘89 because I was working at Blockbuster at

BY CHARLES A. MATATHIA This piece was written just before the inauguration of Barack Obama as the 44th President of the United States of America

BY LUIS H. FRANCIA Her skin tells the truth: full, curvesome, with hints of over-ripeness, and yet glorious, glorious. My own skin, alert as a

BY ERICA SILBERMAN It’s just after rush hour on a warm July morning and I’m picking up my mother at Grace’s place in Bridgeport. I