Tag: Issue 12

I don’t remember― but I wrote as if I did. I told you about my bed and my clothes and the silence, and all about the color blue, and how I don’t have it in my bedroom or my bathroom or in any of my kitchen towels. I said it wasn’t my favorite color and…

In monarchs’ overwintering groves, there were once so many butterflies that the sound of their wings was described as a rippling stream or a summer rain. Center for Biological Diversity   Small child, dark husband, roving hand, the man who discovered places in me that no man should discover so early; first whispers of marriage…

Hill 937. Let me offer you from Sa Huỳnh copper bowls and lingling-o, that double-headed amulet of milky nephrite green. Our ceremony calls for this. Now hold my spirit steady. At its base, regard my grandmother—some one- thousand, seven-hundred-sixty-eight years later, south of Đà Nẵng—coded daily with its embers. Enemy of State or Enemy of…

I. I was channeled, spoken by that sunburst. II. Vaulting through wide crevices of noun, our rooms were filled with music. III.  Only then described by reoccurrence, Jean-Paul Sartre wrote—There Is No Question—but our spectacle of green. And you were channeled, too. IV. To vocalize as such, to multiply, that build-up shone among our bodies.…