MEMOIR — Split Lip Magazine

Nancy

That fall, when my best friend, Iris, is away visiting her grandmother and I am bored, I find myself hanging around with Nancy. She had come to our commune, Sunnyridge, alone in the summer and stayed on for months

memoir, 2024SLMOctober 14, 2024Leah Korican

Contraband Marginalia

I promised to keep track of my pen, lest it become a tattoo kit. As a treat to end security training, the sergeant showed me the Wall of Fame. Flanked by photos of sheriff deputies recognized for outstanding service, a glass case contained the best arts and crafts confiscated during shakedowns: an elaborate board game, intricate carvings on bars of soap, and a garrote made from toilet paper.

memoir, 2024SLMSeptember 14, 2024Kasey Butcher Santana

Of Coors Light and Clones: A Story About Dave

Dave Grohl takes the final drink of a Coors Light and places it on top of a speaker as he bids goodnight, closing a 2001 Foo Fighters set in St. Louis at The Pageant. Or The Fox; you can’t remember which, but it’s a small venue on The Loop where you tread easily near the stage.

memoir, 2024SLMJune 14, 2024K.M. McCorkendale

What Time Is It?

Draw a circle on the blank page. Put the numbers in first: start with the 12, swing down to the 3, then over to the 6, and finally up to the 9. Draw the other numbers if you want, but they aren’t required.

memoir, 2024SLMMay 14, 2024Jeff Wood

i THOUGHT I gave up my virginity to a Pretty Ricky song but that’s not the point

asked me what i needed in the moment (this was his first and last sweetness) i asked if he could play Aaliyah i asked if he could play I Care 4 U like how i had imagined it every time i had imagined it it was 2008

memoir, 2024SLMApril 14, 2024m. mick powell

Fairy Godfather

In May of 1985, my first play, Bonds & Options, was in rehearsals at New York University. I was renting a futon in an alcove in Flushing where the cockroaches did compulsory exercises, Gangnam Style, on the kitchen countertops, and I took the 7 train into Manhattan five days a week.

memoir, 2024SLMMarch 14, 2024James Magruder

Buzzcut

My hair is coming in faster now. Or I’d never noticed how fast it grew before. I shave my head every winter. Not because everything’s dying and not because everything that pretends to die will come back, but because there’s not much else to do.

memoir, 2024SLMFebruary 14, 2024TR Brady

Metamorphoses

If you want to do damage, you can do it in Target. You can build a small grave for yourself out of five to six items and you can lie in it and die.

memoir, 2024SLMJanuary 14, 2024Sabrina Bustamante

Tidewrack

It was two months after Mum died. I would not meet anyone. I would not answer messages. I would not talk about my feelings. I didn’t want to chat. I didn’t want people. I didn’t want feelings.

memoir, 2023SLMDecember 14, 2023Michael Bird

Williamstown, Summer 2003

Famous was a matter of time. We inhaled stardust and pollen in the sweltering heat of Massachusetts June, summer theatre. A cicada finale played as the curtain of dusk descended over green hillocks nightly, an audience of mountains darkening in the distance, fireflies our dimming footlights.

memoir, 2023SLMNovember 14, 2023Michael Todd Cohen

If You Want to Know What You’re Made Of

First, it’s just a log you keep in the back of your diary. Novelty. Dates you’ve gotten stoned with friends in the neighborhood: Elly on the electric box, Billy and Sara at the Grove, first period behind the school cafeteria.

memoir, 2023SLMOctober 14, 2023Jennifer Battisti

Valentine’s Day

Last Valentine’s Day, I got six tattoos I did not want.

The six dots formed a constellation, a guide around my breast for the radiation I would receive.

memoir, 2023SLMSeptember 14, 2023Elizabeth Koster

GRAY RAINBOW

I’m more uncomfortable when Jake strides past the server and secures a table for two—the best seats. Late, and the rooftop is nearly empty. Downtown yawns before us. The St. Louis Arch frowns.

memoir, 2023SLMJune 14, 2023Crystal Odelle

In the Sunrise Hour

In the hour before the rays of the sun find the face of Grandfather Mountain, everything is still. The birds wait somewhere high above, dew hovers over lush grass, and the sky seems close enough to touch.

memoir, 2023SLMMay 14, 2023Cassie Mattheis

With Flowers

I’ve tried to tell this story before. Let me try again. This time with flowers.

My mother died on Mother’s Day. It’s nearly impossible for me to comprehend, because she was my mother.

memoir, 2023SLMApril 14, 2023Kimaya Diggs

Money

Give me a quarter for every one of those women who goes to India to learn what yoga does for her body, a dollar for every one that says, I don’t mind taking a tour, but can we rent a car with an AC?

memoir, 2023SLMMarch 14, 2023Geetha Iyer

eat your feelings

I wanted to redact. I’m not sure when redact. Just as I find myself stumbling through nearly every therapy session, despite my efforts to write about anything or anyone else, I can’t obscure this truth: my mother is sick, and I have to come to terms with it.

memoir, 2023SLMFebruary 14, 2023Grace Dunbar-Miller

Two Immigrants

A few summers ago, on the final day of a cycling trip from Lisbon to Seville, I stopped in a small village to wait out the hottest part of the day. It was the siesta hour of deserted streets and shuttered shops.

memoir, 2023SLMJanuary 14, 2023Ajay Makan

Material History of the Closet [Soft Serve Ice Cream]

A photo: me, a high school freshman, blue with joy for making the team, standing flagstill in a parking lot, crumpled eating a soft serve ice cream cone out of a baseball mitt.

memoir, 2022SLMNovember 14, 2022Tyler Raso

On Going

Where the roads meet at the top of the hill and you can see farmland stretch as far as the city lights, I become intimate with everything I’ll never know.

memoir, 2022SLMNovember 14, 2022Dina L. Relles