Fiction

  • Wyatt Earp Days

    The days when white men and white men alone could find their fortunes in the West from mining green gold were over. It was time for other pioneers to seek their fortunes and build empires that would last generations. Those had been my cowboy thoughts, though I worried about how we would make our success…

  • Balsam

    It’s a pity atop a tower of pity that Rick is going to die indoors and in town, but if that is how it’s going to be, this is about as good a place as possible. The window looks east, out over the bare trees and rooftops and streetlights and red-and-green-and-yellow-turning traffic lights and the…

  • The Cacophobe

    There’s a secret buried in this letter. What I’m about to tell you isn’t it: I am deathly allergic to ugliness, I have been since I was a boy, and by the time you read this, this affliction, which has so exquisitely disfigured my life, will, at last, have finished me. None of this is…

  • Could Be a Wasp

    “It’s illegal, you know. To keep them chained up like that,” I say. “Maybe we should call the cops or whoever you’re supposed to call about that. Animal control.” Jas is busy opening and closing every drawer in the kitchen, one by one. Open, pause, close. Open, pause, close. Without looking at me, she shakes…

  • Her Infectious Laugh

    Mother has been brewing phở with her own private stash of Saigon cinnamon for over twenty-four hours in anticipation of the lunch. The entire house is fragrant with its sweet spicy scent. Purchased on her last trip to Vietnam, the cinnamon, harvested near her childhood home in the Central Highlands, makes an appearance only on…

  • How I Came to Understand

    On the terraced hillside above us, there were these clusters of people with enormous smiles. We all watched them from down below. Sometimes they would dance, apparently for us, though perhaps not; slow yet jolly dances in which they swung enormous peacock feather fans over one another’s heads. They would lift their hands up high…

  • Sugar Island

    Maggie and Joan took the two o’clock boat to Sugar Island. A man was supposed to show them his camelback sofa: green velvet upholstery, scrolled arms, feet like talons. Seven hundred. The ad said it dated back to 1908. This struck Maggie as disgusting—a hundred years of butts—but Joan loved old things, and she wanted…