Only thought the smell of jasmine tasted like smoke.

Maybe you should’ve said something sooner, Robert.

I have done it again, crossing / outside the frame into / some brave, new world

After Rebecca Lindenberg

I look into the history; I circumnavigate—

I know of nothing stronger than the laughter of these women.

There is a waxing // for every waning.

Stars, trees, lasers, lights, everything locking into nothing, everything together yet apart.

I speak with the weight of / hours left on this side of the pacific

Translated from the Persian

“Silence” and “Contending with ‘You’ After You Are Gone”

What Totaram Sanadhya’s short story tells us about the space for solidarity

“Anthill,” “Jericho,” and “Tofino”

These writers elegize and scrutinize the liminal spaces between taste, smell, and image, between individual truth and collective meaning-making

I needed the concoctions F poured to quiet the things that grated and grew wilder each year—the confusion of being part white in an Arab country, part Arab in an expat world.

I was struck by the world I tasted—woods, Baja California granite, the winter of the grapes’ growth.

Locheequat, fruit of the non-doing.

I am only the height and width of a girl. 

Translated from Hanja (Old Korean) to Hangul (modern Korean) and then English

Su Yu-Xin’s paintings and mixed media pieces