CafeLitMagazine

  The wishbone is barely starting to dry on the windowsill the day after Thanksgiving. Genie climbs onto a kitchen chair and grabs the for...

  “I can't believe I'm having so much trouble refilling my nerve pills at my local pharmacy," I say to Gennie, my friend.    ...

     Maggie holds up a soft cucumber.   ‘Organic! Hmph.’ She glares at the produce worker.      Rotating the vegetables, the clerk says, ‘...

 by  Phyllis Souza luke-warm water    — can hear the sounds of compressors from the refrigerated trailers.    Inside the hospital, legs ...

by Phyllis Souza warm milk    On a Friday afternoon, Mary walked towards a pulmonary physician’s office.  She paused to allow her si...

by Phyllis Souza Ovaltine After coming home from Mid-night Mass, remembering fifty years earlier, Betty dressed herself in a long...

by Phyllis Souza ruby port   1921—Southern California, ten miles east of the Pacific Ocean Ten-year-old Laura posed for a...

by Phyllis Souza  weak tea She wants me to get sick; I know she does. Mother Superior is a merciless woman. Why else would she turn...