July 10, 2020 | Poetry
Sean Cho A.
i came to America too young
to be foreign, so all my dreams
are American and contemporary,
present and blinding as... more
July 9, 2020 | Fiction
My husband is a proficient fighter. He catalogs the inconsistencies between the things I say and things I do. Against this tactic, I have no defense. For he is right, but what he fails to understand is the internal consistency in my inconsistency.
But I didn't feel sick anymore, was the thing. The sweating, capsizing sensation, the kaleidoscope of Muppets I saw square dancing behind my eyelids on that third night when it was legitimately bad, all that had been weeks ago and still everyone brought my mother food.
–After José Olivarez
When Carly’s... more
“Louis has stopped taking his dose.”
Sarah lowered herself to her knees in front of the fridge, continuing to uselessly rearrange the sanguinium.
“We think maybe you can spend some extra time with him, maybe get him to start taking it again,” Tim said. “You do great with Dotty.”
I'm up here along the photograph and its shore, calling to you. Dive off your custom watercraft and swim to the beach. No one of us standing here blames you for being seduced by the once constant tingle of skin we've followed all our lives.
I confess my DIY rituals in high school, tiny fires fueled by crumpled notes and dried flowers from lost loves and later, gifts from my parents bought during the divorce. In the smoke, my hope conceived visions: sometimes revenge, always return. Nothing I witnessed was more than smoke
Kendra L. Vanderlip
3/31: The day is young. Dress smart today Capricorn, big things on the horizon. When... more