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It is like a long tunnel, the strange, shallow light of the hospital hallwayshining against all the stainless steel they always put around those kindsof places. The steel shines a dark, tunnelish light. A feeling of objectivitythey want to impart to you. Like, your baby has died. Objectively. I readonce that they change a person…
Remember the snowed-in highway, the saloon dressed up like a chalet, the auroral sunset falling minute by minute on that lonely desert town? And him watching me as I played dead in the snow— like a salt flat, the snow outside so bright even at dusk and midnight— until I opened my eyes and saw…
I hurt, my mother said over and over, and powerless to end her misery, we hurt in kind and never quite enough. I am sorry, I said. I say it still. I apologize for experience, aka the world, who could not be here today and sends her condolences. I am sorry, I say from a…
I am making a doll in the likeness of all that I am not. I know, I know. It is not possible. Wherever I go, I am where I was, as I am now, and everywhere I am not yet. One day I will join a mother, a father, the doll that was a cat…
I will tell you all about desire. One night, a man picked up his bag and walked. One night, my father picked up his bag and walked, His big brother became the story. My big brother once told a story, He ended up choking on a stroke of joy. If rightly stroked, would you choke…
Everywhere, there are rainbows—on the stairs to Girls’ Block, around the bulletin board announcing our meals for the week, on the playground equipment where we sit during Outdoor Time. (Sometimes Nayeli goes down the rainbow slide, and we follow her, laughing like it’s a big joke—us, pretending to be kids.) There’s a rainbow on the…
1 The reader laid out a bone, a feather, a small rock, then smeared the cards in an arc across the floor. She asked Fern to choose. Fern turned over a woman leaping or falling headfirst from a tower, orange flames bursting from every window. “Oh,” Fern said. “That doesn’t look good.” “It’s not always…
1. When she was twelve and I was ten, Zara stole a handful of henna stickers from my mother’s beauty parlor and applied them up and down her chest. “Boob tat,” she captioned the selfie on Facebook. In the two hours it remained available online, Zara’s adorned sternum reached every aunty in the Jersey Shore…
Translated from the Korean by Bruce and Ju-Chan Fulton 1 An ordinary-looking man was not what I expected. He was of average height, at five feet six inches, and had a compact build. His body was marked with scars and blemishes but bore no tattoos. I detected none of the anxiety and fretfulness that convicts…
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