Ivanych stumbled out onto the porch, squinting against the cruel brightness of snow. Not a curl of smoke rose over the village—everyone wintered in the city now, or finally rested in their graves. Too bad he’d already filled the night bucket with yellow ice. It used to be the bucket never needed emptying, but lately …
A binary star system consists of two stars that rotate around a shared center of mass, appearing to orbit each other. To the naked eye, they are indistinguishable, existing as a single point of light in the night sky. Only through a high-powered telescope can the stars be differentiated as they sear the space around …
When the clinician inserted the tent of seaweed into my cervix, a practice as outdated as Japan’s abortion laws, the tiny stab caused an involuntary jerk and gasp. She firmly pressed one of my knees with her free hand, saying, “Deep breath.” As I exited the room, I nodded, a slight bow to answer hers, …
Who is your ideal reader? a lit mag asked,and after careful thought, I decidedit’s Daniel Craig, circa 2006,deliberately emerging from the seain his little blue shorts, flinging waterfrom his hair, swaggering through the wavesand onto the beach, white sand clingingto his bare feet and somehow muscular ankles,striding to the chaise longue beside mine,and opening a …
Text: before there was manthere was mother and the sweetinfinince of her chorus mother of heaven, mother of earth, mother of mothers and other gods. mother of motherlands, broken waters, mountain peaks, and fertile valleys. mother of wind, mother of music, mother of sorrow and song. mother of echoes, mother of echoes, of echoes, echoes. …
Although I have now lived inside the ivory tower for longer than I ever lived outside it, my arrival first felt like exile. That immigration seems like a far more dramatic passage than my journey from South Korea as an infant adoptee, though certainly the latter has inspired more curiosity. But I have no memory …
Having nottouched myselfin some timeowing tothe erosionof incrementalsadnessesthat can detacha personfrom their bodyas cleanlyas a cliffis sheared froma coastline,the doctorinforms methat lovingmyselfis now myjob. So I take upmy own twofingers andwork them withthe seriousnessof earned saltand an imaginarysalaryinto the littoralcavern ofmy pussy. Andlike a wavethat sweeps theunsuspectingfrom the rockybreakwater,quite suddenlyeveryonewho has everfucked me isfucking meagain—mywife’s …
My mother tells me my grandmother has begun to touchherself. Dress up, hands between her legs, furious & buckling,& I wonder: how long has it been since she’s been touchedby anyone? Decades, I presume. Does there come a point in lifewhere you stop craving pleasure or do you learn to no longerexpect it? Her dementia …
I remember the summer after Chernobyl for its fertility and vibrant colors. Whether it was due to the high levels of radiation blown toward the Crimean Peninsula by the northern winds, as my family speculated later, or to my grandfather’s tireless efforts to turn a cleared patch of clay into a kitchen-garden, that year our …
Now you need not die again, but still I wish you were here—Katherine Anne Porter, Pale Horse, Pale Rider My nephew is writing a book, he says, about Martin Luther King, Jr. “Now why would you do that?” I asked him. “Pick a topic without so much competition. Who’s going to read your book?” Ask …
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