Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

1994

by Maureen O’Connell

Did you see us?
three teenage girls
arms outstretched
deftly
placing one foot
in front
of the other
heel toeing forward
ever so slowly
tightrope walking
on a bridge
on a highway median
above the Missouri’s dark-blue depths.
We knew it in our bones:
fall one way
eat sidewalk,
fall the other
be roadkill.
See us,
unripe peaches, a hint of sweet but mostly bitter.
Three promenading waifs atop a concrete strip.
Three amazing alchemists transforming trauma into invincibility,
every molecule of life a wild cackle rising from our nubby chests.
Don’t you honk.
It makes us wobble.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Remembering Moldova

by Bozhena Johnson

My mother’s food
I remember most—
Juicy mititei, spicy sausages
Formed from ground beef.

Fluffy, scorching hot mamaliga that envelopes the tongue,
Water and cornmeal simmered together.
Cutting mamaliga into slices with a thin thread,
Topping with butter, sour cream,
And brinza—tangy like feta.

I remember tea parties—
Friends under the willow,
Branches dangling around us like curtains,
Embracing dolls and sitting on blankets.

I remember walking in the Valley of the Roses,
Filled with fragrant scents—the summers of my youth.
I remember fleeing Moldova,
Coming here over thirty years ago,
And never going home again.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Message Received

by Lisa Ferrazzano

The hospice nurse prepares syringes while we hover, paralyzed in blinkless waiting. Later, we stand and stretch, eat pale hunks of melon from a deli container.

Mom’s death rattle is a battle cry (Dad told her to fight!). No one told her she is here to die.

Prayers and candles in churches hold her, invisible arms straining against spent lungs. No one told them to let go.

I text Mom’s friends: It’s time. I hit send. Mom’s breaths slow, a ceiling fan switched off but still turning.

Her eyes flash open, her lips move silently, then—message received—she rests.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Release

by Alisa Greenbacher

When my father is seven years old, his father dies. His mother forgets to tell him. His brother punches him.

This is your fault.  

A shadow of shame seeds itself. For sixty years, he cannot speak a word of his father. Then, he meets a storyteller who speaks about love and grief and time. 

You can do this too.

One day, he writes down 10 memories about his father. Later, he stands on stage in front of one hundred people. 

He tells his story.

Out of the top his head shines a soft light. Like a bird, he is lifted.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Wedding Reservations

by Michelle Emerson

I struggled into the long-sleeved, lacy white gown. Ensconced in the honeymoon suite with my soon-to-be mother-in-law, I was made up to look the part. 

What had I been thinking when I’d agreed to this? 

I could be court martialed for marrying an enlisted man. And I hadn’t planned to be a stepmom–I’d never even wanted children. 

If I’d waited, would I have eventually found someone who matched the life I’d visualized?

A train of reservations followed me down the aisle.

Later, silhouetted against a Waikiki sky, husband and wife held hands, drawing the eyes of Japanese tourists.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

Into a Pickle

by Jesse Janelle

My new daily pickle pals—easily twice my age—men with balding heads and graying beards, love to make me run. 

Your young legs can take it!

They don’t know the pain my stretchy tendons cause. They don’t know I’m too proud to wear compression supports on the court. They don’t know that, right now—I’m ready to collapse. 

One more game, Ace!

Mid-play, my left calf explodes. POP!

I win the point on one leg.

Rookie of the Year!

Muscles torn, pride bruised, I won’t be back tomorrow.

My young legs will spend a painful month immobilized off court.

About the Writer

Issue 7 | Thresholds

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2026 Spring/Summer issue, THRESHOLDS.

After Dropping My Daughter Off at College

by Lindsay Rutherford

“Flight 324, now boarding.”

The line inches forward. My body resists, unsure how to step into this future without her.

A toddler, golden-haired and gleaming in fresh pajamas, lurches through the boarding area giggling, brothers in hot pursuit.

He dodges a duffel, wobbles, rights himself, and stops at my feet.

Wide-eyed, he gazes up, reaches for me.

I reach back, through time, to my daughter at that age, lift the warm weight of her to my chest.

The line quickens. He swerves away. I board the plane, holding only memory in my empty arms.

About the Writer

Issue 6 | Refuge

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2025 Spring/Summer issue, REFUGE.

Burning Bridges

by River Rising

About the Writer/Artist

Issue 6 | Refuge

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2025 Spring/Summer issue, REFUGE.

Ritual

by Judithann Walz

Amidst the hum of my new kitchen, a meaty hambone sits in a crockpot with split peas, rosemary, garlic, a bay leaf, and chopped carrots.

Marriage still young, invites heat through time.

I submerge the medley in six cups of chicken broth, set it to simmer, and open my book.

Soon, the story on the page competes with the smokiness of hambone and subtle hints of cinnamon.

When I lift the lid, I see how heat through time has transformed these disparate ingredients into a velvety cohesion.

My husband picks up the ladle and kisses me.

About the Writer

Issue 6 | Refuge

Here, in 100 words or fewer, writers make quick work of compelling true stories, in the lead up to Multiplicity’s 2025 Spring/Summer issue, REFUGE.

Scarlet Box

by Dulce María Reyes Bonilla

A U.S. consular interview concludes Mami’s septennial wait. My mother is fifty-four and stern. I’m seventeen, there to assist, betting my hope for freedom on her migration dream. 

The officer scans us. We resemble future FLOTUS Obama more than Barbara Bush.

“She is?”

“Daughter.”

She nods, stamping APPROVED thrice.  

“And bring her in three weeks with everything listed here,” she instructs my gleeful and stunned mother. 

Splatter from Mami’s luck shocks me with bittersweetness.

Unbeknownst to me, but not the consul, I’m still becoming. And here’s a scarlet box: fire extinguisher and axe included. Fire will emerge in due time.

About the Writer