Tag Archives: Rona Wang

fleeting

Once it was July and I listened to a conch shell until all the ocean rustling bled out. Summer suffused with salt and gold, everything spilling outside the seams. That day the sky smoldered ash-white like the wrong side of … Continue reading

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Foreign Daughter

i. In July, you stumble into a Shanghai market brimming with slaughter and the typewriter sputter of haggling. Steel-jowled men pin down thrashing carp, strike the head, gut the belly. Shuck the soul clean. Press your fingernails into your wrist … Continue reading

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