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The Breaking

By Sarah Orner Essay

Even though Aylon painted it in 1978, there were still oil drops around the outside of the frame. The painting appeared to drip.

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By Lesley Jenike Essay

The insides of our mothers’ bodies are the only places that are most certainly past. From then on, from there on, every room is just an echo of that first, red room.

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Dry Leaves Tumble Down University Circle

By Charles Marsh Essay

Still, the novels and histories of madness couldn’t hold a candle—well, maybe Plath could—to stories of the Complete Nervous Breakdown I’d heard throughout childhood. My grandmother always had a story about somebody she knew who’d broken down.

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The Party at Hart’s

By Robert Clark Essay

I think Hart wanted—he was nothing if not a man of magnificent and consuming desires—the wrong things, or things to which he was not quite entitled. I have wanted them too

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By Chloe Garcia Roberts Essay

In ballet class they were always chiding us to not allow the difficulty of the act to be expressed in the hands… We girls were being taught the art of concealing art, ars est celare artem, the method wherein obfuscation becomes a weft to gird the warp of technique.

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My Desert Saints

By Nate Klug Essay

It is said that a certain woman went to visit her sister. Before she knocked, she peeked through the curtain and witnessed something she had never seen.

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Water in the Desert

By Melissa Florer-Bixler Essay

The waters of the Sonoran Desert are scarce and wily. In O’odham lands, shy rivers will retreat underground, seeping into the sand, as if to rest from the seen world for a while.

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