Poetry
My reptile mother birthed a reptile daughter – cold-blooded, always chasing sunlight. The weather turns a screw in a fractured
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Christmas, blue lights refract through the wetwindshield. Us, in the backseat,while my brother drives through the richestneighborhood in Orange County. It’s tradition.From
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A few weeks before your wife left you wentferal, showed up to the houses of friendsaround dinner time, and I was out
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Bless the man who dismounted an elliptical just as a song blaring from a far room of the gym ended.His timing was
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— After William, William, and William; Robert, Richard, Sam, and Tom In the absence of left hands and left breastsand right eyes
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My knees pop and crackle like a fireplace as I kneel at her feet on the carpeted floor. I flinch—my body suddenly feels
Read MoreNonfiction
A Note on Nakedness: In my writing, bodies bend and fold; hands encircle hips, hold onto sheets; mouths make music or
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In 6th grade, a small group of boys started carrying around little, red laser beams on keyless keyrings. They were small
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Sunlight illuminated our bare skin, the air briney. The dog whined at the door. Their body
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Child of my body, you are from me. I gave birth to you. Yet you are from another time,another place. My mother
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San Pablo Avenue in Berkeley on a rainy Friday night. I’m driving home from a coffee shop. Wet roads on autumn nights.
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One way to measure the passage of time is to count the number of days since you last had sex.
Read MoreFiction
Ping-pong is great foreplay, I tell you one night. You’re already in bed, while I stand
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“Where’s the other instructor, the boy?” Renee said. It was day one of Women’s Wellness Camp, which
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I’m pretty sure I got the job at Midnight Express because I didn’t ask if it was illegal. I wasn’t background checked,
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I believe in the sun even when it is not shining, I believe in love even when I cannot feel it, I
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Last, um, my friend Sam let me come over. Sit in the sun, aim my face at the sky. Shootin’ the whatever on the
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Marcus and I share a two-bedroom garage apartment, and he has filled it with horses—some are small figurines with stout legs and
Read MoreReviews
The Arrest, in all its surreal narrative trappings, supercars, and Hollywood theatrics, wants to know if words can save us in a
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Speaking to the The Guardian as a finalist for the Man Booker International Prize in 2015 (a prize he later won), Hungarian writer
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By Abby Dockter I am on another plane trip. Patchwork farms, webs of highways, wide rivers and furry green mountains, all pierced
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Animal Collection – I grasp for words to describe it. It is modern. It is postmodern. It is fables. It is magical
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The beginning of Anthropologies feels like something you’ve remembered before—a frail mother recounts stories for a middle-aged daughter. But then, the daughter
Read MoreInterviews
Jon Riccio interviews Samuel Rafael Barber about his new book, Thousands of Shredded Scraps of Paper Located Across Five Landfills, That if
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Jon Riccio interviews Robert Carr about his new book, The Unbuttoned Eye.
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"I feel that one of my missions in life is to chip away at the idea of human exceptionalism, the idea that
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Venita Blackburn, author of the short story collection Black Jesus and Other Superheroes (her 2017 debut, published as a result of her
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CHARLES YU is the author of three books, including the novel How to Live Safely in a Science Fictional Universe, which was a New
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What is it about the genre or cross-genre you write in that interests you/draws you in? I’m drawn to forms animated by
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