The Oligarch
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I It was three days after Christmas when I came home from work and found the gift bag leaning up against my door. “Love, Aunt Gloria,” read the card in her spidery cursive script, the kind that stymied children. I pulled a tin of cheap mint chocolates from the bag. Frango was stamped in bloodred …
Story from Issue 22.1
title taken from Tommy Pico’s Nature Poem I walked like a rage into the body of my life, which insisted the end of grief camein the fulfillment of desire, but desire, like loneliness, is a hunger it willcome back I muzzled grief I desired with a desire beyond desireI repeated the word until it grew …
On the occasion of a Giant Eagle employee double-checking to make sureI rang the right item up at self-checkout Truth: Plátanos are the only produce item I know the PLU code for (4235). Lie: It’s my Caribbean pride. Truth: I just got tired of looking up plantain bananas every time I used self-checkout. Truth: I …
What exists in the shadow of a thingThat casts no light? I wonder if it’s GodOn the other side collecting data fallenPast the horizon. Lonely in the centerOf the Milky Way, the ultimate introvert,What does It know of us? If we are madeOf stardust, do we collapse into ourselvesOn death, our souls an absolute density? …
A field with a lonely baseis a fish. If you want to betraditional, start a fire.My grandfather fell in lovelearning Chinese. He askedhis teacher out to the museum.An abundance. A cow in the middlethat is or is not a thing. The courtyardthat shifts to an ending. A gallery.My girlfriend and I went out alsoto the …
Mangoes ripening in a wicker basket—tough and green, you could skin themand eat them with salt. In the oven,the softening flesh of salmon,waiting to be pulled out and servedwith yellow grits and butter. My motherwas away when two visitors came knocking. What I can describe is the powder-bluechalk-outlined hopscotch box, beginningwith your first step off …
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