was always our tax status. There’s no lovein money. Sometimes there’s no love in love.Sometimes love is a fish-gillslit in your heart through which you learnto breathe. That’s how it was.When I found the long silver hooksof another woman’s earringsin his bathroom drawer, I raisedan eyebrow. I said, “Oh.” Sometimesa waterspout rises from the lake …
grandma unfolds her dress, & 1967 patternsinto life, its story mapped in provinces, infamilies splayed naked on a dusking weave. The dressis handsewn, seaming bound by restitching. Lilac & rhubarbthreads haphazard & layer threefold along the waistlike fingers of smoke. Mesmerizing, because a dying fireis a spectacle. The dress of a hometown documentingevery small violence. …
title from Hippocrates, translated by David Hayden Camden my body wants a babydespite the circumstances, the ramen at the kitchen sink at midnight,the bargain-bin fruit, jelly-soft and splitting, the amex too sharpat the register, drawing blood.the whole world is having a baby. my cousin is having a baby, any day now, gray and grainy on …
I am playing the role of a little old lady, pleasantly plump and talkative, telling her life story, says Agnès Varda as she guides us through her memories, reflecting on her life as an artist and filmmaker, with beaches as the connective thread. Memories like these compose an identity, make life understood. The North Sea …
The Sentence My father’s heart exhausted itself. Cardiac arrest, the cardiologist said. A man was arrested in my Ugandan village when I was a child. A few years later he was released, only to steal and get sentenced again. Release can mean its opposite—”stretch out again” from Latin. Acquire back. So, this catch-release-and-release went on …
Señora Pérez’s house was too small for the four of us to go inside. El Míster and my abuela waited out front. My mom and me sat at the round table in the corner of the kitchen, my mom stabbing the rotary dial with her index finger. Sra. Pérez sat on her sofa watching a …
Just enough Luis knows I’m not in love with him, although he’s never asked. I can tell by the way he fits himself around the space where the question would go, always aware of the outline of it, the sharp edges that would catch and cut him if he got too close. Some days I …
Today the blinds are open, no matter how hot it is outside. Mom and I look down all twelve floors. My brother’s red car, the size of a pack of cigarettes, parallel parks between a motorcycle and a pickup truck. When he gets out of the car, he’s the size of a matchstick. Some girl …
We are pleased to share this review by Brian Trapp of Stanley Elkin’s The Magic Kingdom (Dalkey Archive Press, 2000 edition), which appeared in Issue 18.2 as part of a special multigenre review feature on joy, hope, and delight (read the entire feature here). Nobody reads Stanley Elkin anymore. He’s too perverse, too ironic, too …
We are pleased to share this review by Sonja Livingston of Judith Kitchen’s The Circus Train (Ovenbird Books, 2014), which appeared in Issue 18.2 as part of a special multigenre review feature on joy, hope, and delight (read the entire feature here). Twenty years ago I sat with a dying friend in his hospital room. …
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