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→
Once I lived in a house by a river, in a deep narrow valley. The house was dark and damp, the river enticing. A broad lawn, anchored by an ancient white pine, sloped down to the water. Often, I sat by the water and wept. The sun sank early behind the mountains. The river sank into a running darkness. Every spring, I watched the ducks—mallards, mergansers—slide along the water with a wake of ducklings. I counted the little handfuls of fluff each day, delighted when they lined up along a fallen log, equally delighted when … Continue reading Living by Water by Martha Graham Wiseman→
There were some signs, of course, that the world was ending. Sitting in the nurses’ station I sipped instant coffee, listening to a float nurse offhandedly mention that the winds would be kicking up later that day. I looked out the window. It was summer, the wind would be a welcome change. The next morning was dark. Waking up at 5 a.m., I wasn’t surprised. I bundled up my child to take her to daycare. I needed to get back to the hospital for my shift by 6 a.m. The sky remained dark. I dropped … Continue reading A Very Ordinary Day by MJE Clubb→
I’ve been using an old refurbished desktop, just a couple hundred bucks. It’s okay—except for its geriatric pace and annoying habit of turning itself back on after shut down. Then I started getting threatening messages from Microsoft reminding me it can’t be upgraded to Windows 11 and will become even less capable and more vulnerable. Its days are numbered. My new Dell arrived last week and I began prepping for the switch. Since I didn’t want my files in the cloud (I’m under the illusion that I have some privacy left), I needed to back … Continue reading Just One Thumb by Gayla Mills→
When she walks out to the barn for the evening feed, what she notices first is how dark it is already, and how, with the darkness, a stillness sets in. Stillness is not the same as quiet. The soft but urgent whinny of the pony wanting dinner ripples from the front pasture, the drumbeat crunch crunch crunch crunch of hooves hitting fallen leaves begins as the herd files into the paddock. The pony and two donkeys stop at the gate that leads to their side of the barn. The two horses walk to their stall … Continue reading Feeding Horses and Other Things by Billie Hinton→
I missed my son’s voice this Christmas. Of all of us, Steven’s voice was the deepest. And that includes all the voices of our best-entire-family friends, the Eisenheims. Bruce (Steven’s dad) and the Eisenheim men (there are three) are all over six feet tall (just like Steven), but even so. In a room completely filled with Eisenheims and Trvaliks, you could still pick out Steven’s voice from the crowd. That’s how deep it was. Deep and resonant. Even his laugh was deep. He laughed a lot. That’s when I noticed it, actually. Christmas week, on … Continue reading The Second Christmas by Mary Trvalik→
I learned how mean boys could be on the school bus during my first week of third grade. It was the first year my sister, in kindergarten, was riding with me and I beamed as we walked to the bus stop at the end of our street. The leaves were starting to turn red in our small town, and the morning chill was fresh on my cheeks. I took her hand as she climbed up the steep steps of the bus, her pony tail bouncing along with her lunchbox. “Good morning, Mr. Jim,” I smiled. … Continue reading One Small Gift by Anne Merritt→
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