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
War exists in beautiful places.In the arms of a galaxy, symbiotic stars swallow each otherand in the shallows of a reef, a four-armed sea star spreadsover a shell like a chromosome. Scarred,
not the Titan, but my home built without a bomb shelter,and built to house bombs. Explosions—unlike implosions—happen over the course of felt moments. Skirts are blown upwardas Trinitrotoluene flushes cheeks yellow. Gravel
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, as far as I know. I didn’t sign any non-disclosure
Head out, highway highA continuous zephyrEl Dia Previo synced Admiration for the asterismsPastel colored moonglowing Measured burning glancesPinkies linked, head cradled Zaira is an emerging writer from Pennsylvania. As a queer Mexican
Pandora, when she lifted the lid, did she knowwhat she would loose? Not the least: blame, which would brand her and her sisterswith the blood and resentments of men. Like Eve, who
Kissing the Wolf What wolf, that kissed me so, and in kissing mekissed himself, together we fell into a single pleasurehe and I, pressing my kisses into his emptiness,saying do and do
I believe in the sun even when it is not shining, I believe in love even when I cannot feel it, I believe in god even when he is silent -written on
I picture perfectthe moon’sabrasions,orange over Malibuthat night. Ocean blue and crestingin Dad’s blurry footagebehind his father,face paintedlentigo. This was yearsbefore his fall, beforehe only spoke in no’sand wa’s. His skullintact and helmet-free,his
Homecoming On shattering glass water slips
Last, um, my friend Sam let me come over. Sit in the sun, aim my face at the sky. Shootin’ the whatever on the porch, while he ducked under his self-made tarp tent. There
