Category Archives: Essay/Memoir

Deus Absconditus by Philip Newman Lawton

Photo of statue of winged angels with face in her hands
 

Philip Newman Lawton has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest   My sister Margaret is dead. Her body has gone to cinders, her pain, blown away like smoke. I want to remember her as a child, go back far enough to trace the whole arc of her existence, make sense of it, figure out why she lived and died the way she did, but we grew up in a dysfunctional family, an alcoholic father, a hand-wringing mother, and I was prone to lose myself in books and daydreams. My memories are in … Continue reading Deus Absconditus by Philip Newman Lawton

The Earth is Round by Karen Dolan

Photo of what look like eggs and three "egg' halves with babies in them
 

Karen Dolan has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest    I had seen the penis on the ultrasound, I knew I was having a boy. What I didn’t know was that I was wrong. “Stop it with all the questions!” the midwife barks in response to my questions about a possible epidural. “This isn’t a think tank.” This is a dig at me and my employment at–indeed–a Washington, DC think tank. I feel like I’m in a medieval torture chamber and my captor is commanding me to shut up, lay back, and … Continue reading The Earth is Round by Karen Dolan

The Oppenheimer Retrospective by Katherine Slaughter

Photo of sign explaining the Trinity Bomb Replica
 

Katherine Slaughter has earned an Honorable Mention in Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest   Oppenheimer: Back to the Future In the movie theater, I clenched my shoulders and hunched in anticipation of the blast; I could feel the tightness in my jaw. The time between the image and the subsequent sound of the explosion was akin to the space between a lightning strike and a thunderous storm: the interminable wait until the explosion erupted with all its furious sound. Viscerally, I had a sense of generational deja vu. I had grown up in the 1940s and … Continue reading The Oppenheimer Retrospective by Katherine Slaughter

Tongues of Fire by Sandra Hopkins

Photo of cross atop church across blue sky with white cloud
 

Sandra Hopkins is the 1st place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest   How did my grandpa, Papa Hop, know that it would be impossible for me not to put my tongue in the space where my first baby tooth had come out? How could he predict that all on its own my untamed tongue would find my soft, raw gum and seek to massage it? I wanted a gold tooth just like his. His teeth gleamed as he spoke. A piece of Timothy hay he was chewing on moved up and down as he … Continue reading Tongues of Fire by Sandra Hopkins

Blindsided by Jeanne Malmgren

Tight photo of two pairs of Ray Ban glasses
 

Jeanne Malmgren is the 2nd place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest   This should be a quick in-and-out, I’m thinking. As we walk into the Department of Motor Vehicles, I’m cheered to see the line isn’t too long. We’re here for a simple errand, to change our driver’s licenses from Florida to South Carolina. It’s as mundane as any of the other chores related to moving to a new state. This DMV office is home turf for me. It’s just down the road from the country hospital where I was born. This is the … Continue reading Blindsided by Jeanne Malmgren

Stop Shivering by Avery Roche

Close up photo of white tendrils
 

Avery Roche is the 3rd place winner of Streetlight’s 2024 Essay/Memoir Contest   Pain. This is a word I am intimately familiar with. In fact, it is at the heart of my whole testimony. Everyone has their own unique relationship with pain. Their own horror stories. Their own way of surviving it. Some have been tossed deep into its depth. Some have been cut brushing along its sharp edges. Some have only gotten close by peering through a window into someone else’s suffering. Before, I might have claimed to understand pain. I might have said … Continue reading Stop Shivering by Avery Roche

God Bless the 800-Calorie Sandwich by Angela Townsend

Photo of a sandwich from the side
 

So, here’s the thing about the Meemaw cookbooks. I have no desire to make any of this stuff. But it gives me metaphysical peace to know that someone in Arkansas is eating the 800-calorie sandwich. The Meemaw cookbooks are the dozen Taste of Home Annual Recipes volumes I’ve acquired. With systematic, inexplicable pleasure, I began collecting them the week V. moved out. The 2nd Avenue Thrift Store asked $2.99 per candy-colored hardcover, so I merrily cleaned them out. I intentionally left behind the Cooking Light Annual Recipes. I can and can’t explain any of this. … Continue reading God Bless the 800-Calorie Sandwich by Angela Townsend

Moosehead by John Matthews

Photo of pitcher of beer and full glasses
 

I had just helped a young neighbor, much younger than me, dig an annoying stump out of his yard. We were tired and muddy, but he invited me into his house for a breather. “Have a seat,” he said, pulling out a kitchen chair. “How ‘bout a beer? I’ve got Heineken and Moosehead.” I paused. The choices were so unexpected. “Wow, my two favorite beers in the world! How can I decide?” “I can’t really tell them apart,” he said. Without waiting, he uncapped one of each and set them before me. I hoped he … Continue reading Moosehead by John Matthews

My Father Unknown by Laura Shaine

Photo of the box of a 23andMe DNA kit
 

How do you knock on a door that, all your life, you imagined opening? I stood at a fateful address on the edge of the historic district of Old Cloverdale, in Montgomery Alabama. I had never been to Alabama before and until now, had only one important contact here—Harper Lee. Before my first memoir was published, Harper Lee had read it and written to me, “A beautiful story I shall cherish for years to come.” I was thrilled, of course, but still uncertain— what was my story? Ever since I could speak I had searched … Continue reading My Father Unknown by Laura Shaine

Angels by Margarita Meyendorf

Photo of pink zinnia amongst leaves
 

We were a half-hour drive from our destination and already thinking of the cool lake we were going to jump into and the scrumptious lunch we had packed when suddenly, my husband Miky accelerated and the connection between the gas pedal and the engine was gone. Just gone. There was nothing there. He pumped the gas pedal, but to no avail. Were we out of gas? No. He went through the gears—we had no gears. Our beloved 1991 VW Westfalia pop-up van sputtered forward in first gear for a few feet more, then in the … Continue reading Angels by Margarita Meyendorf