You can’t fool us. Just like you couldn’t fool your mom in sixth grade, sneaking into the kitchen at two a.m., pilfering a box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch from the pantry to eat in front of the TV while you watched the Sham Wow! infomercial for the third school night in a row. We aren’t going to ground you though, and we won’t tell your mom. Why? Because we’re right alongside you as fully grown adults eating cold grocery store fried chicken at midnight while we pretend not to cry watching Steven Universe on our second-hand couches. We’re The Midnight Snack, and we eat our feelings just like everyone else. So open your pantries, raid your fridges, empty that one pillowcase full of candy from your kid’s last Trick-or-Treat sesh, and send us all the food writing our nutrient-deficient digestive systems can handle. Fiction, Nonfiction, Poetry, Ingredient Lists, Recipes, Nutritional Information: we want it all. Just don’t use the microwave—you’ll wake up Dad.
by Colleen Maynard
I twist off a ripe fig from the tree leaning against the house.
It loosens easily, spittles
a white foam on my hand. Another twist.
by Caroline Misner
I was powdered with dust, a gritty gauze, that clung
to my sunburnt shoulders and wormed into the strands
of my hair and crusted my face, tacky with sweat
and syrupy streaks of juice.
Art by Sarah Simon
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