Tag Archives: Daryl Muranaka

In the People’s Republic of Cambridge

Is it bad that I forgot what my own face looked like when someone muttered to me, Why don’t you go back to the Orient where you came from! on my way to work? Here, too, we find the bitter. … Continue reading

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Kaeru*

Each day,             passing the samosa and the roses,             the steady routine of returning home             sanding away the meaning of life             to the essentials of comfort,             of her hand on my back,             forehead to forehead, a smile or a frown             being … Continue reading

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Speculative Fiction

He wonders how his life would have changed if he had slept with that woman who excused herself to use the restroom, her eyes so full with hope and anticipation, but when she returned, choked with disappointment because he had … Continue reading

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Chaff

How many deny their religion because it doesn’t say the name God? How much is wrapped, hidden, and shrouded, like a burlap bag over the condemned man’s head. Dogma is human, thus precious. The sacred is profane. The intangible grows … Continue reading

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Suburbia

We moved, because we must always move, to a place where we wouldn’t move, somewhere where the houses were all the same, where people owned cars the same as ours, even down to the Barcelona Red. We moved to where … Continue reading

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Tether

Soon, or maybe not so soon, I will get on a plane to see my parents, daughter firmly in tow, flying to the other side of the world. But as I put my boy to sleep, eyes closed, gnawing on … Continue reading

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Night Training

The baby peeps. The baby growls. I think he’s still asleep. The baby’s quiet. Then growls again. I close my eyes against the sound of the air conditioner, of the noise machine. Still I hear the growl, long and slow, … Continue reading

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