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
Read More
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
in a world where silkworms turn in the wind, into mothswith prodigious hunger & no mouths, where you are possible even the most
Eben E. B. Bein (they/he) is a biology-teacher-turned-climate-justice-educator at the nonprofit Our Climate. They were a 2022 Fellow for the Writing By Writers workshop and winner of the 2022 Writers Rising Up
THIS IS NOT A RIDDLE What’s that old joke about the snake that wasn’t a snake? Or was it a pipe?
We spent our state tax refundon an inflatable hot tub, a bottle of peach wineand a couple filets of Alaskan salmon. Also— a bundle of asparagusI picked up at a carport farm
i. There was a time. There is time, and it fools us. It really does toy. Like he put it, it is titillating, this foreplay with death. As one day dawns with
My goddesses tell me that before i bow down and pray, imust kneel and heed i must kneedand heed the answers that becomemogras in the mouths of maa kali a world you
Woke up to shy blue//Thought about praying//Forgot how to//Kept my hands pressed together anyway//Drank half a pot of coffee//Used extra cream because my mouth//Wanted to feel as full as it does holding
Grasshoppers in the Virginia Foothills of Nevada are not your cute green cartoony hopper. They’re Hollywood monsters – true competitors of Mothra. Other animals wither in the hot baking summer sun while
Alone as I am, the spirits waft in. The invisible reunion tingles my finger pads. I spread my arms like flying; give me your weight. A tarot spread asks to know you,
Deep in the crow boned blue onslaught certain plumes are apostles intoned to the skyfall with heavy luring I promised silkworms beetroots or a love poem for letting me murder winged-nomads Told