We ride knife-cut roads across this back / of continent to the prairie’s torn edge / to a place where shadows limn loess

By Grace Zhou
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Poetry

We ride knife-cut roads across this back / of continent to the prairie’s torn edge / to a place where shadows limn loess

Poetry

Snapshots from a South Korean dissident poet

Poetry

Perhaps it is now the other way around, / and I have become an almost-perfect lover, / caring little that the Gods love poets less.

Poetry

everything is/air/is/argument (the chorus said)/as I slept/in the desert//
service on the cell went dead/I said/jocasta always hangs herself

Poetry

Build for money, swim for money, plastic money. For the / love of never sinking. Sunk cost, efficiency bots. With best / with best invest.

Poetry

My family has legends in the form of a spider’s legs.

Poetry

This little ocean has a way / of submerging everything behind its mask. And Lam, / it has swallowed you whole and I could do / nothing.

Poetry

In our home we brewed ginseng tea to battle unnamed / diseases. We held hands with health. I was never good at it, of course: / always too bitter, oversteeped. Always the universe mocking me / from the sidelines.

Poetry

Older now, the sparrow God / gave my grandmother in place /of succulence.

Poetry

the heft and cleave required / of living / with a nation on your skin / under the broken yellow toenail / of the forgotten

Poetry

I turn the page in this war criminals diary because I / can’t stop

Poetry

& on the drive to LAX /when I ask you not to cry this time, you look / at me with reverence as if to say, what came from me / is so much more than I am

Poetry

I want to start over, thinks the body / to the one on the other side / her second chance / unharmed unhummed / and now unhinged

Fiction

“The ecology and economy of the region is under threat. This Transpacific Literary Project folio, Monsoon Notebook is for these essential, vanishing, and unruly waters.”

Poetry

At fifteen Nani shot a / tiger. A big gun in a girl’s hands; I’ve seen the picture.

Poetry

At this / moment there are more than two dozen / revolutions occurring around the globe in / Chile, Lebanon, Hong Kong, France, Sudan.

Poetry

When my harabeoji died / last spring I thought I’d move to California, convert / to Catholicism, kneel beside my halmeoni at early Mass // become student of those hundred and three / Korean saints though I can’t name more than one.

Poetry

On the screen, an old man is dying in his bed. / The adults are talking / loudly, two feet away from each other. / From their voices, I can tell their hatred / for that old man, a thin blanket to his chin.

Poetry

Perhaps for you a minefield’s / just a field, for you a mother tongue / is not some rune that breaks your mouth / and heart.

Poetry

If I have a son / with his mother’s eyes / then will there still be room / for me under his tongue?

Poetry

We ride knife-cut roads across this back / of continent to the prairie’s torn edge / to a place where shadows limn loess

Poetry

I turn the page in this war criminals diary because I / can’t stop

Poetry

Snapshots from a South Korean dissident poet

Poetry

& on the drive to LAX /when I ask you not to cry this time, you look / at me with reverence as if to say, what came from me / is so much more than I am

Poetry

Perhaps it is now the other way around, / and I have become an almost-perfect lover, / caring little that the Gods love poets less.

Poetry

I want to start over, thinks the body / to the one on the other side / her second chance / unharmed unhummed / and now unhinged

Poetry

everything is/air/is/argument (the chorus said)/as I slept/in the desert//
service on the cell went dead/I said/jocasta always hangs herself

Fiction

“The ecology and economy of the region is under threat. This Transpacific Literary Project folio, Monsoon Notebook is for these essential, vanishing, and unruly waters.”

Poetry

Build for money, swim for money, plastic money. For the / love of never sinking. Sunk cost, efficiency bots. With best / with best invest.

Poetry

At fifteen Nani shot a / tiger. A big gun in a girl’s hands; I’ve seen the picture.

Poetry

My family has legends in the form of a spider’s legs.

Poetry

At this / moment there are more than two dozen / revolutions occurring around the globe in / Chile, Lebanon, Hong Kong, France, Sudan.

Poetry

This little ocean has a way / of submerging everything behind its mask. And Lam, / it has swallowed you whole and I could do / nothing.

Poetry

When my harabeoji died / last spring I thought I’d move to California, convert / to Catholicism, kneel beside my halmeoni at early Mass // become student of those hundred and three / Korean saints though I can’t name more than one.

Poetry

In our home we brewed ginseng tea to battle unnamed / diseases. We held hands with health. I was never good at it, of course: / always too bitter, oversteeped. Always the universe mocking me / from the sidelines.

Poetry

On the screen, an old man is dying in his bed. / The adults are talking / loudly, two feet away from each other. / From their voices, I can tell their hatred / for that old man, a thin blanket to his chin.

Poetry

Older now, the sparrow God / gave my grandmother in place /of succulence.

Poetry

Perhaps for you a minefield’s / just a field, for you a mother tongue / is not some rune that breaks your mouth / and heart.

Poetry

the heft and cleave required / of living / with a nation on your skin / under the broken yellow toenail / of the forgotten

Poetry

If I have a son / with his mother’s eyes / then will there still be room / for me under his tongue?