To Their Leaves / by Chase Boisjolie

At three-thirty in the afternoon, the sun had attained such a point in the sky that it was now shining with absolute brutality into Isaac Jacob’s twelfth floor apartment. The mercilessly bright light revealed a room that was, in a manner of speaking, a near perfect reflection of its occupant. Strewn about the wood floor …

The Bitter Oranges of Jacob Breslin / by Amber Gallant

We thought maybe Papa had gotten the idea from a book. For months he spoke of nothing but the wine-hearted solitude of the place, quoting Robinson Jeffers, while I racked my thoughts trying to remember which of my library books I’d left on the kitchen table at home, what he might have riffled through while …

Goose / by Chase Boisjolie

“The trees look funny,” said Laura North, who was struggling to keep up with her mother as they walked downtown. “Why do they look like that?” “I told you, baby. It’s fall. They do that every year. They did it last year, and they’ll do it again next year, too. Now please stop asking me …