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.→
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→
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→
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→
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→
Amelia Zahm is the third place winner of Streetlight’s 2025 Essay/Memoir Contest Long strides carry her forward. I hear joy, that annoying tone of cheerful morning people. Sharon’s joy vibrates from her chest and carries the lilt of her voice toward the sky. “What a day!” She bounces over the grass, her grin infectious as it widens across her freckled cheeks. She stops for a moment, cradling the black jumping saddle against her belly. The brilliant May sun glints from the round gold frame of her glasses as she tilts her face upward, eyes closed. … Continue reading Combined Training by Amelia Zahm→
Streetlight Magazine is the non-profit home for unpublished fiction, poetry, essays, and art that inspires. Submit your work today!
