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Creative Nonfiction

Entwined/Creative Nonfiction

Entwined is a creative nonfiction piece that pulls readers into an unexpected intersection between the narrator, an ambiguous stranger, and a girl. This unsettling meeting mirrors the author’s own troubled emotional state, as she struggles to separate the two to reveal the truth of the encounter.

The Ghost of Berry Creek/Environment

In early July, when I first saw the creek, there had been plenty of water downstream from the collection site. But by August, flow had been reduced to a point where all the water was now being captured by the pipe. Below the intake, the streamside wetland plants had shriveled, or never had a chance to sprout, or had simply disappeared over the years from the altered habitat.

Elliott Wilner/Creative Nonfiction

Alamy Stock Photo, Trinity Mirror, Mirrorpix   STREET CRIME:   Memories of Life on 28th Street   by Elliott Wilner Guest Contributor n the 1940s, when I was a young boy, 28th Street Northwest was a...

Prelude to Cuba and Dallas

President Kennedy was coming to Bogue Field? Standing with the other lower level NCOs on our half-hour trip to Bogue, one hand on a metal pole screwed fast to ceiling and deck, I swayed with the bouncy rhythm of our cattle car and tried to maintain my balance. The North Carolina countryside zoomed past outside like a movie on fast forward, and the open windows and doors sucked hot air inside. The roar in my ears…

Of Brooms and Ennui/L. John Harris

Of Brooms and Ennui on the Île Saint-Louis   by L. John Harris (Excerpted from "Café French: A Flâneur's Guide to the Language, Lore and Food of the Paris Café." Text and illustrations by L. John Harris. Forthcoming Fall, 2019 from el Leon Literary Arts.)  ...

Cynthia McVay/Creative Nonfiction

The first time I saw Field Farm it was the dead of winter, snowless and charmless, but even so, something about the soft curves of the land and open space captivated me. As the realtor fumbled for the key to the modest house, with thick plastic tacked to its windows, I turned to look over the short-cropped, amber field, unfazed by the fierce wind that came from all directions at once. I wrapped my scarf around my neck and head, and stuffed my bare hands into my coat pockets. My shoulders lifted to my ears to close out the cold. I could barely hear the realtor’s answer when I announced I was going there. And then the wind swept me out into the land.

Ocean Ghosts/Ben White

And I was haunted.  All the way across the ocean on the way to Tokyo to celebrate the 40th anniversary of the Japanese Coast Guard, I was haunted by the sea, the stories, the history, the unknown, the traditions, the journey. The haunting itself is a ghost.

Evan Lockwood/Commentary

  Epiphany in a Pizza Shop A Trumpian Reverie   By Evan Lockwood Illegally stoned on a plant not federally legal yet, in line at a pizza shop on a Friday night. The line is uncomfortably long for being this stoned. A young girl – clearly the daughter of an...

R. B. Ejue/Fiction

She starts greeting you in your language, releasing throngs of words you cannot understand so that you become irritated. All this is unnecessary. You know she can speak English and so you don’t understand why she insists on speaking your language all the time. You ignore her and walk away, hoping that your conduct puts her off, but she is unfazed, tipping the taxi driver and carrying your two traveling bags into the house, the smile on her face ever present.

Tim Walker/Creative Nonfiction

Dana enters the aviary carefully, closing the door behind him. The plover chicks, alert but unafraid, watch him with eyes like obsidian beads. He strews a handful of hoppers on the floor for the chicks to chase down. A few hoppers escape through the aviary’s mesh, and Cris’s free-range chickens snap them up. Like the snowies, the chickens have been watching us and waiting for our bounty of juicy arthropods.

Donna D. Vitucci/Fiction

I'm Priscilla *** The Sacred Thread   by Donna D. Vitucci  Seated Learning he ghosts watch us quietly, for what else have they to do? Our lives exasperate them. The children have never minded their elders,...

Shelly R. Fredman/Creative Nonfiction

There are birds here, and butterflies making their way between the flowers in the garden. Lilacs thick with honeybees, and goldfinches too. Brailsford knows all of the names of the flowers. I only know the sounds of the birds and study their different voices, their constant songs that tell me, always, it will be all right.

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The name Ragazine was coined in the mid-’70s in Columbus, Ohio, as the title of an alternative newspaper/magazine put together by a group of friends. It was revived in 2004 as ragazine.cc, the on-line magazine of arts, information and entertainment, a collaboration of artists, writers, poets, photographers, travelers and interested others. And that’s what it still is.