Existing. That was what the weeks after the funeral felt like—a string of continual stresses from the mountain of immediate family responsibilities, punctuated with pangs of overwhelming sadness, and then those sudden — surprising — interruptions, moments of hope. Also, a lot of logistics. Every morning I asked myself what
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We’re slicing through the Sonoran Desert on Highway 286 in a water supply truck operated by Humane Borders. Faint yellow light rises into the sky behind the mountains, letting us know that
Existing. That was what the weeks after the funeral felt like—a string of continual stresses from the mountain of immediate family responsibilities, punctuated with pangs of overwhelming sadness, and then those sudden
1. On the rare occasion that Charon went to find Mr. and Mrs. Naaji, he packed his own dented watering-can and walked the long way to the cemetery. He passed Elm Street
The first time I saw a needle, it wasplaced innocently on a nightstand as if itwas a tube of chapstick. I had no right to see it in the bedroom of a friend’s
I come home on Easter Sunday to find a mouse killed as if by a surgeon. The puncture wound is a clean crescent. I want very badly for this to mean something. I
They call you Bella. It’s the name you chose from the film Belladonna of Sadness. At the strip club, where you can tell them what they call you, but not how they
Jupiter’s orbit they called it, the path he took nearly every day. He’d start from his little high-stepped house at the farthest end of Duane Street, where the road gets spotty, disappearing
i. soojung, 2001 if any memories remain,let bruise and laughter blur. somewhere by a sea,a child forces broken starsinto their mouth, sliveringpaled enamel above barely-therebuckteeth. five years old andevery care beyond. fingertips
Books are my morphine. Ditto the sun. If night is secular, why do I seek its blessing? I’d rather build a paper kingdom then bend a knee, or kiss anyone’s ring. Words
Jameson saw the selkie three times. The first time he was little more than a boy, fifteen and gangly with it, walking along the beach drunk on summer and the rum he’d