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Fall 2018 Issue

Broken Bones and Pygmy Donkeys By Megan Williams

First Prize, 2017 Literal Latte Essay Award.
By June, the weather is already so sweltering, the very concept of summer feels oppressive. As I park beneath a giant walnut tree at Abington Friends School and walk Gus and Grace across the parking lot for the last time as second graders, the mixture of sadness and happiness that accompanies every end and beginning of the school year as a parent engulfs me. I breathe in the soupy air and count. Based on the estimated start date Detective Brody gave me, I will start the Philadelphia Police Academy in ten weeks….

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Write What You Know By Kathleen Spivack

Second Prize, 2017 Literal Latte Essay Award.
“Write about what you know,” my journalism teacher, Mrs. Orsini admonished. What did she mean by that? It was rather like being told, “Work for a living!” At fourteen such exhortations were meaningless. I stared, both fascinated and repelled, at Mrs. Orsini’s long painted toenails. She was married to a podiatrist, she had told us girls. Why would anyone choose that field? What induced her to marry such a man?

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Losing My Mind and Getting a New One By Judith Hannah Weiss

Third Prize, 2017 Literal Latte Essay Award.
I’m not an expert on brain injury. I am a person who has one. It was an accident — the accident of a drunk with a truck. It was a Code 4 emergency, which means my life was threatened. Then it wasn’t my life. My head hit the headrest so hard it broke the seat. The good news was I survived. The bad news was brain damage….

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Winter 2017 Issue

Sicily: My Enigma By Maria Terrone

I could begin this journey on black pavement of volcanic lava, destruction/construction as Sicilian metaphor embodied in a town whose name I don’t recall. Or nearly knocked backwards by the sight of Greek temples shining in spring sun on a poppy-studded hillside…

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The New Couple in 5A By Rebecca McClanahan

Every afternoon at 4:00, while Donald was still at work, I’d give up on my writing, walk to the living room, and wait for the music. Soon, behind the wall that divided our apartment from Apartment 5B, it began…

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Spring 2017 Issue

By Lia Woodall

First Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
ellipsis (i?l?p.s?s)
n, pl -ses (-si:z)
A series of dots, typically three, that usually indicates an intentional omission of a word, sentence or whole section from a text without altering its original meaning…

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Middens By Carol Smith

Second Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
The sense of dread begins to build even before I punch in the code on the metal entry box. The gate scrapes open and I pass through, driving down the catacomb of storage lockers with their corrugated metal doors. About twice a year, I gather the nerve to visit my storage locker and face the endless task of whittling down what I’m keeping. I survey the unit, a steel tomb of unmet dreams, overstated ambitions and boxed-up grief….

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Livin’ On a Prayer By Sandra A. Miller

Third Prize, 2016 Literal Latte Essay Award.
We take the tram down Leopoldstrasse to the UBahn station and go thirteen long stops to the end of the line where Klinikum Grosshadern dominates a bland corner of the mostly lively Bavarian city of Munich. We walk approximately a quarter mile down a corridor the width of a swimming pool, past what my sister calls the turban stalls: temporary shopping booths where visitors can purchase knit cancer hats in forcibly happy patterns, as well as painted Easter eggs hung on string, crocheted book bags, and teddy bears sporting ledershosen….

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Fall 2016 Issue

Degrees of Separation By Lynne Sharon Schwartz

Only recently with the candidacy of Fred Trump’s son Donald that has arrived like a plague of locusts — except that locusts are expected periodically and Donald was not — did I start to wonder who exactly this Fred Trump, our longtime landlord, was? What did Donald come from?

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Requiem For All The Words That Didn’t Make It Into Tweets By Laura S. Distelheim

First Prize, 2015 Literal Latte Essay Award.
A gap year, he calls it because he’s learned to speak in tweets. So a gap year he says, at gatherings of his family and at reunions with his friends, and at the job interviews he’s been spending his days going on lately, where I envision bald and bespectacled men and staccato-speaking women sitting across their desks from him…

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