In honor of our 15th year in publication, we asked our editors for some of their favorite website essays. Here are the top 15 selections:
By Rebecca Altman
Seven years ago, when I was pregnant with my first child but didn’t know it, my husband and I planted three raspberry bushes.
By Lynn Shattuck
“Does your husband have blue eyes?” the cashier at the grocery store asks, her brown eyes peering into my equally dark ones.
By Banks Staples Pecht
They call it a loveliness when thousands of ladybugs gather.
By Jacqueline Maria Pierro
It is the dead of winter yet my bedroom window is wide open to a black sky devoid of stars and compassion. Frigid. I’ve removed the screen and pulled back the curtains allowing full entry should Peter Pan find my house and fly me away, enveloped in fairy dust to the Never Land.
By Ellyn Gelman
This is a happy day, adoption day. Kenton is dressed in a navy blue jacket and tie. A solid, average size ten-year old boy, his light brown hair is cut short.
Visiting My Teenage Daughter in the Psychiatric Ward
By Susan Dickman
Grieving the Days of Only
By Jennifer Berney
The Sunday after my second son was born, my first son, Harlan, asked if he could shoot his Nerf gun off the front porch. It was bright outside but cold and windy.
Hearing Langston’s Smile
By Kristen Witucki
I stood in front of the changing table wearing just my underpants and nursing bra. My husband James stood next to me so that he could learn how to change Langston’s diapers by touch.
By Dana Laquidara
I am standing inside our home with my sister and our young mother. I am four years old.
By Vera Giles
I sat next to the learner’s pool, opposite my instructor for Overcoming Your Fear of Water.
Rated M for Middle School
By Chris Fredrick
Sound travels from the basement up the stairs to the kitchen. I can hear our son because he yells into his headset microphone. “So, what are you using?”
By Lynn Shattuck
They move north and west. The low weight of eggs in their belly propels them. Their bodies move through the saltwater, past the glittering lures of fishermen.
By Debbie Hagan
Above the black pines, above the rock crags, above the frozen streams I soar. Eyes shut, I am armless, legless, bodiless, weightless—a spirit cut loose, suspended over treetops.