Foragers
byChasing crickets through alpine meadows, my sisters and I stumble over bones sprawled in a grove of blackberry vines. Alone. The ants the flies…
childhood
The Little League World Series: First Play
byTeams crowd the hills, fill in the land along the river, uniforms, like patches of colorful cows amidst the fields. All the corn points…
Wanna play?
by“Wanna play?” That was a standard greeting between my neighbor, Julie and me. If it were summer in the Midwestern suburb where we grew…
Three houses away
byMy two best friends growing up were brothers who lived three houses away from me. Tim was in my grade and Joe was two…
Playground
byFor spring to begin mma boy held his breath and then the breath mmexploded, the boy’s cheeks sank—this, this mmwas the last of winter….
The joy of being flung
byWe were city kids who had a bit of grass to play on. We lived in post-war garden apartments–brick, two-story buildings attached and arranged…
Hoop dreams of a younger sister
byMy first basketball court was a smooth, square patch of concrete between the one-car garage and the rest of the dusty rock and gravel…
No apologies
byEditor’s note: Each Thursday, we feature a throwback piece from Topology’s predecessor, catapult magazine. In this essay from 2011, Deborah Lewis recounts how she’s…
Country roads, take me home
byI kick back the blankets and willingly rise at 7:00. It’s Saturday morning in early October, and Dad’s driving into town. He does this…
Little sister hails a cab
byThe first story I remember hearing about my Aunt Ruth was from the childhood she shared with my mother. “She used to take a…