After Jennifer S. Cheng 1: the sea captured in a glass 2: a homophone for having enough for leftovers, a synonym for abundance 3: the fish, who have already forgotten you. It’s not personal 4: where memory fails, there’s still imagining 5: you. Not as an ocean but outside 6: glass and/or acrylic
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The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a dystopia.
Winner of the EXTINCTION Essay Contest, selected by Lacy M. Johnson
CHARLES YU is the author of three books, including the novel How to
The Bispham Dairy Farm We wandered and settledon the Bispham Dairy Farmwhere the hills disappeared and the countryside flattened,a land filled with Palmetto Palms with sand no seed could sprout. My father became
The carnival had flattened out like a tarp over the grounds outside the Montana town only that morning, so no one had seen her yet, kneeling next to Venus, spinning an empty
save for the shitty under-aged tattoos, you’d never know i was once sixteen— your dad’s hot tub a gumbo of gumption and too-cool girls cash crumpled and rediscovered under the passenger seat,
In December 2014, I had just completed my first semester of a creative writing MFA in Boston and was home for the holiday break. Mileage may vary for those in MFAs—and elsewhere,
Playing Hide ‘N Seek with My Father’s Ghost the blue-sky gleams [______________________]from behind the oak tree [__________________________]like it’s fed by the stream [__________________] on the day my father dies we
The scarecrow thawed & we readied it for the garden.I wanted to rub the purple botches on the Dahlia’ssoft white petals. A robin oblivious to me stoodon earth as soft as bread
I see a photograph of a human heart entirely drained of blood, its surface translucent. The aortic valve and pericardium membrane encapsulating the heart are a pale, pinkish beige just shy of
Having For So Long Been My Mother’sLive-In Caregiver I could call the doctor, make oatmeal,buy vitamins, change batteries,and dim the blinds all day long.I could service your concentrator,clean your nebulizer,or do something
Timothy Nolan (he/him/his) is a writer and visual artist living in Palm Springs, California with his husband and their rescue dog, Scout. He has exhibited extensively for three decades and his work
You tried to color my hair at the kitchen sink the night we moved in together: a big man wielding a little brush with surprising delicacy, applying blond dye in practiced streaks.