Category Archives: Reprint

Ephemerality as Haibang

There, through the car window. The sky a brocade of shimmery dark             velvet. I am nothing more than a moment here. Just today, I ate haibang for the first time in years, the shelled flesh             soft and mushier than I … Continue reading

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nocturne

a plane flies overhead at 2 am and I am struck suddenly by the unexpected disruption, the way it shattered the silence that had settled on my skin in tepid layers. I realize that perhaps the silence was nothing more … Continue reading

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even the shoreline changes

on the nights that sleep eludes me or plays me cool and coy as a cat, the winds in my mind fill my sails and send me across the sea to you. it’s nights like these when stillness shakes my … Continue reading

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Mountains

I’m headed to the mailbox to pick up my sons’ toothbrushes, rapid tests, and my copy of Burying the Mountain. Our house is a mountain, to the layer of fallen snow. The layer of snow is a mountain, to the … Continue reading

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Giraffe

A giraffe eats lettuce from my son’s hand. Its tongue houses all the enthusiasm its eyes lack. A blue-black snake— thick, elongated. I am more impressed by the prowess of the giraffe’s tongue than its neck or legs. Its tongue … Continue reading

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Upon Turning Thirty

I abandoned you in Apalachicola sipping firewood fumes and culling your camouflage back where obliging framed porches are oiled with shrimpers and shorebirds ducks are cleaved from tupelo trees Dead Man’s Fingers flood old lace sands one cloistered laser lemon … Continue reading

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Decibel

I read your leaves in the unfiltered sake bar by the rhetorical retail park on Lois Lane. You left the rihaku and the renkon to me, tackling a crash course of black sulfur ramen, acidulated soybeans, three piles of cartilage, … Continue reading

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The View from Marigot

At the Saint Martin airport terminal, my youngest brother hurried toward our car with a look of consternation, as if he had suffered greatly on the plane. Francis still looked thin and brittle. He was skittish and kept checking the … Continue reading

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Quiet Depths

No heartbeat. Eight weeks into hope after so many missed opportunities, but now hope takes off and leaves on silent wings, leaving me gasping and empty. The short distance through the gauntlet of women with healthy pregnancies is an unfathomable … Continue reading

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Broken Red Ceramic Heart

I told myself before the move to wrap it carefully, box it, place it way up high on a top-floor closet shelf, a packing strap around it once or twice, and double-tie the ends in furious knots—all which I did, … Continue reading

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Rely on Mystery

A single milkweed plant has sprung from seeds scattered last fall. I almost fancy myself a gardener, except that so much potential died with those plants that didn’t grow. A door left open says “forgiven”, the only word not worn … Continue reading

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Two Kinds of Idolatry

They crossed the border for an egg, exodus over Red Sea frozen over by night providence, chased by red sun and ungodly idol, by fetter and fly and famine, for                         theirs is a coal desert bearing the face of a … Continue reading

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Upon Seeing Floating Dust at Golden Hour

When she said there is nothing left―I am gone like a father, false like a specter―maybe you cannot help but wonder if she was even here,―or if you built her out of Jenga block bones buried in a meadow of … Continue reading

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A Small Price to Pay For Yo-Yo Ma

Stan McGreevy was a legend in Santa Pulmo. For over forty years, he had been one of the most popular teachers at Santa Pulmo High, where he taught music and directed the school band. Twenty-three of his students went on … Continue reading

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Corporeal

In this place again, the for rent sign in the uterine wall, the timeline realigned for the present, the list of reasons as reminders of why. List of concerns, list of pressing matters, list of choices, list of real or … Continue reading

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Under the Lights

At 16, the mother I love, sends me to the frizzy-haired psychologist. My thoughts are everywhere. They’ve always been everywhere, at my feet, in the sky, on strangers’ faces. She prescribes bright pills, forcing my mind to roll over and … Continue reading

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Neon Disguises

Las Vegas: city of billboards, debauchery, and celebrity second chances; a desert oasis of burning lights and alcohol-fueled gambling binges. It’s a city with an identity crisis: a metropolis among sand dunes, a tourist haven founded on poor imitations of … Continue reading

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Summer Child

      ​      ​Everything is repeated, in a circle. History is       ​      ​a master because it teaches us that it doesn’t       ​      ​exist.       ​      ​            —Umberto Eco, Foucault’s Pendulum This summer is finally nearing its end. I can smell distant fires, oak smoke and cherrywood, on the … Continue reading

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Gateway

Everything of that culture, laid across a fantasy gateway, imagined color amid a sea of monochrome. Fog condenses, heavy in sorrow, saturating tracks laid by missing fathers. Paper lanterns glow, recalling dynamite that turned letters to home into ash. Pacific … Continue reading

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eight

for breakfast, peach flesh             slick and yellow— spoken over,                         blanched. butterknife dreams             love bites across             plump curves                         —she never said no. eight peaches, lucky. pits torn up,             gone out, rolling heads and tails;                         probability, ever             retrospective. for breakfast, thoughts             and … Continue reading

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when we lose control of our tongues…

This is a reprint of work originally published in Kissing Dynamite. Laleh Gupta (she/her) is a sixteen-year-old student from Maharashtra, India. An editor-in-chief of Indigo Literary Journal, her work appears or is forthcoming in Claw & Blossom, The Cabinet of … Continue reading

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The Seed

Sally was cooking dinner in the kitchen. Outside, little Janie was crying. She was screaming something about that midget. Kyle was in the living room watching television: a woman being chased down a San Francisco street. “Go out there and … Continue reading

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Late Developers

In the last few weeks of her life, I caught him peeing in the sink. I came through the back door, as all of us always did, via the porch with its fly papers and window ledges and stands chock-full … Continue reading

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After The Bomb Went Off V

roaches scuttled out in eagerness to survey their inheritance This is a reprint of work originally published in Four and Twenty. Ian Chung

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Paper Animals

It was the last day. At the beginning, I had found myself counting the days. We had arrived here in the heart of winter. The little village was located up in the mountains, a place so untouched by globalisation it … Continue reading

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