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
People described my father as a navy man, distilling his entire life into two words: NAVY. MAN. But I never heard him say those words. To be fair, he didn’t say much
On the beach just by the power plant, Brett told us about the Prick Garden: “There’s a rabbi,” he said, “just back in the woods. He buries foreskins in his yard. Bris.”
My dear, I think you’ll make a fine Attic Ghost. You seem destined for the slow creak of floorboards in a sleeping house. Just imagine: your silhouette framed in the window of
Well met, well met, my ain true love/
well met, well met, cried he
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yellow hibiscus shrouds the cathedral feet in pieces of sunlight / the church full of sprack / he steps into a cassock / moves down the vestibule
When the world woke from burning / we wiped down the counters / and straightened the dishtowels.
Winner of the Sonora Review Issue 77 Fiction Contest, selected by Rebecca Makkai
I built a sky of my own on my bedroom ceiling. / This sky is bold & bright & blue and I know / the birds will fly away, but it’s okay.
All night, the frost-rimmed windowpane / conducts me into new states of sleep, / while town announcements beckon me back /
from days in my grandmother’s yard, /
