Tag Archives: Rona Wang

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 →

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 →