My mother saw the raccoon first. She was chopping veggies in front of an open window, hoping for a breeze because it was August, and already hot and sticky...
I sat alone at the Shanghai Dumpling King on 34th Avenue in the same seat she always sat in. I came on a Thursday afternoon the way she always did...
Submit your stories of migration and/or your sense of place, of home or lack of, and your empathy to the plight of migrants around the world.
Fifty feet of nylon line and a milk jug stretched across the bay. Twenty hooks, mostly trebles, hung waiting; chicken liver and dough balls luring them in.
To your villa they come-- the sketchbooks, the cameras, parade past your clay mugs and plates, black lace mantillas that covered your legs, white wooden bed...
Prepare for cooking by crawling in bed with ill mother to hear the secrets of making her special cornbread. Talk about all the times you have shared her cornbread...
Michael Pollan’s latest book is: How to Change Your Mind: What the New Science of Psychedelics Teaches Us About Consciousness, Dying, Addiction, Depression and...
The place I saw you. How you were walking, squinting, through the slowly-becoming-blinding dawn light. How you carried a large red and white tote bag.
Out of a mall. I have a feeling that I forgot to take something. Something that Lynn crucially needs and I’ll have to visit the mall again. But no.
シェイクスピア閉じて夏を志す | I closed poems of Shakespeare | And I made up my mind | To be in the summer
On the same bittersweet day | I gave each a name | And loved each alike.| On the same bittersweet day, | I rocked a crib | And commissioned a grave.
Staring up at a velvet black sky, we watch millions of stars spark and swirl. On a quilt, soft and worn with years of washing and dreaming, we speak of the fate of humanity...
Tell me, in all your travels, have you ever seen the origin of the universe unfold before your eyes? I have… once. At night, a night on the Oregon coast.
Nerves danced beneath my skin, prickling and intensifying with each passing moment. The TV droned in the background.
I slip through the conference hall as swiftly as my pumps allow, with a big smile and a wave to my venture capitalist buddies in back.
We've just launched the first ever Dreamers Magazine and I couldn't be more excited... and scared. When the package with the first printed proof arrived, I was afraid to open it.
Dreamers Creative Writing is about everything to do with writing creatively, from writing for writing’s sake, to using writing in academic research, to writing as therapy.
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