My father died thirty-seven years ago. I didn’t eulogize him at his funeral. I couldn’t. As a young man, I was too filled with rebellion and resentment to see what he was trying to show me. I only saw what he lacked, and his sad efforts to inflate what he thought he had to offer by aggrandizing parts of his life story. It was hard for me to determine what was true and what was not, which blinded me to the fact that no aggrandizement was necessary. I gathered from the little he said about … Continue reading Eulogy For My Father by E. H. Jacobs→
I was born on Halloween, quarter past three in the morning, jaundiced and with a hole in my heart. Or so Mum told me, but she was grumpy about what a pain I had been, so I didn’t push for details. All Hallows’ Eve—hallow meaning saint—is the night before All Saints’ Day on November 1, and is when the departed and beloved are remembered through prayer and song (vespers being Latin for evening). The practice goes back centuries, and includes a rich Celtic influence and history. We knew none of this growing up in Southeast … Continue reading Halloween’s Child by Ping Yi Yee→
Richard Kenney, Jr. has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight‘s 2026 Essay/Memoir Contest “He had a talent for remembering phone numbers and sports statistics.” That was it . . . an obituary’s one-sentence summary of a kid’s life. A kid with a sweet shot and a bucket of promise. A kid trying to find the right touch to life. He is a kid, though, only in my mind. I have not seen him in over forty years. The nine-year-old online obit that I recently stumbled upon said he died at age fifty-five, and that memorial donations … Continue reading Playmaker by Richard H. Kenney, Jr.→
Going to visit a dead body has seemed bizarre to me since my first such occasion when I was five or six years old. Like any good Southern family, we had seemingly countless numbers of old ladies populating the family tree. Most of them were a little scary, I thought. They were somebody’s second-cousin-twice-removed or a great-aunt or Neva’s mother-in-law, someone whose life and death had little bearing on my life. But Mom and Daddy took me with them to the funeral home for the Visitation, an occasion taken very seriously in my family. We … Continue reading Paying Our Respects by Connie Clark→
There are times when Dr. Amanda Mullen’s visage takes on that of a lion tamer about to open the locked gate to the ring where the lions are gathered for them to be put through their traces; or, the look of a guide in Denali National Park on a trail in brown bear country, with an air of utter respect but also with an eye on possible danger. Dr. Mullen is sitting across from me as I recount how I have been blindsided. I tend to be a scrupulous planner, especially when I take Tevis … Continue reading Blindsided by Wally Swist→
The slap came before I could take a breath. I had just said the word “Jiao” the way Teacher Zhang had taught me, firm in my seven-year-old confidence. My mother, arising from her chair and putting down her knitting, hovered behind me in her wool jacket and sharp eyes, and didn’t agree. “It’s pronounced Xiao,” she corrected, her voice clipped, sharp. “But Teacher Zhang said Jiao,” I muttered and continued reading aloud, repeating it the way I had learned. Her hand sliced the air. “I’m a teacher too!” she snapped just before it landed across … Continue reading The Slap and the Word by Jean Romano→
Along with her missing teeth, Ms. Goway’s head and puff of white hair were all I saw on the screen. She rattled her handcuffs and said she would try the case herself. It was the spring of 2024. I was a judge in California, handling arraignments, the stage in a case when criminal defendants made their first appearances, entered guilty or not guilty pleas, or—too often—asked for a delay. COVID had receded (sort of), but not its legacy of virtual hearings. While judges had to show up in court, even for brief matters like a … Continue reading Zoom Pleas by Anthony J. Mohr→
We’re happy to announce the winners of the 2026 Streetlight Essay/Memoir contest. First Prize goes to Wendy Kennar for “On a Scale Of . . . ”, her incisive and personal look at the difficulties involved in the medical diagnosis and treatment of pain—a subject familiar to all of us, sometimes too much so. “Lost Boots,” by Wendy Fontaine, is our Second Prize winner, a subtle blend of love, loss and nostalgia. Jeffrey M. Kane is our third prize winner with “Flare, Strobe, Pulse,” an antic account of an illustration of the irrepressibility of human … Continue reading Our Winners by Susan Shafarzek→
OCTOBER I awaken with a visceral heaviness, like dread, in my lower belly. My phone informs me it’s hours before dawn. Peering around the too-dark room, I remember: I’m in a rural Airbnb on a girls’ trip. I probably have food poisoning, I think grimly: it must have been the pizza. Using my phone to see, I stumble to the bathroom and pee. When I stand up, bright red fills the bowl, spotted with black clots like planets in a solar system. Last month I stopped using birth control after more than a decade. When … Continue reading The Anxious Overthinker’s Guide to Conception by Sarah Stubbs→
My memories of the time when my parents and I lived in a renovated gristmill are of course dim—I had only been two when we moved there and four when we left—but they are my first memories, and they are filled with tone. I remember the narrowness of the house, with two rooms on each of its three floors, and the oldness, darkness, and coolness of its log interior. I remember my mother’s shiny stainless-steel percolator in the basement kitchen, and its swish-and-gurgle pattern that sounded like labored breathing. I remember the kitchen stool, which … Continue reading Talking to Toads by Tutt Stapp-McKiernan→
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