There’s no shame in loving durian at this New York City haven.
What a terrible song, this hoofed wind. / What a terrible song, the begging of my body. / I am the knife. I am the knife. I am the knife.
“Giving women voice” does not necessarily mean they will be heard or believed. From feminist refusal in Chang-Rae Lee’s A Gesture Life to the quiet resistance of comfort women statues.
These four writers will spend the year crafting reversible poems of migration; bridging immigration, love and violence in fiction; chronicling a survivor’s journey through fragmentation; and telling a family history of sovereignty and colonialism.
脱脂牛奶 …..………………. $1.00 / mama am i skeleton enough mama am i skeleton enough .………. 0.25 mile
What a royal feeling to look into that bag and imagine something new on my tongue on a day like that.
The kumquat’s sweetness was a disguise, and once it was disrobed in your mouth, the meat inside was sour enough to make your mouth buck, to wring your tongue of its language.
Who would keep the tree living, years after my grandparents have passed?
I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.
“The process of writing a novel can sound cohesive and tidy. At the time it feels much more like walking around in a very dark and very cluttered room, moving slowly, hoping you’ll run into something like an intention instead of a sharp object, or more often, a wall.”
After the rain, the June wind / wheedles the airy curtains / and creeps into the ward
i say “i don’t need a man” and it’s true/ but flowers. the flowers how i love the flowers / before they drown inside out / from their own perfume.
The first time I had a mangosteen, at a night market in Shanghai, my aunt taught me to open it by pressing my thumbs in and pulling it apart. It was absolutely eerie–it split down the middle and opened like an eye.
When they called me spoiled, they meant that I was a rotten fruit, left out to waste in the humidity, sullied by forces beyond their control.
What is the legacy of the People’s Republic of China?
I wondered how many cherries babies could eat, and what they might think of the taste, or if they just know that the sugar tasted good.
Pauline Park, Myles Markham, and Xoài Pham on the queer historical figures across Asia that have inspired in them a sense of belonging
In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”
What a terrible song, this hoofed wind. / What a terrible song, the begging of my body. / I am the knife. I am the knife. I am the knife.
“The process of writing a novel can sound cohesive and tidy. At the time it feels much more like walking around in a very dark and very cluttered room, moving slowly, hoping you’ll run into something like an intention instead of a sharp object, or more often, a wall.”
“Giving women voice” does not necessarily mean they will be heard or believed. From feminist refusal in Chang-Rae Lee’s A Gesture Life to the quiet resistance of comfort women statues.
After the rain, the June wind / wheedles the airy curtains / and creeps into the ward
These four writers will spend the year crafting reversible poems of migration; bridging immigration, love and violence in fiction; chronicling a survivor’s journey through fragmentation; and telling a family history of sovereignty and colonialism.
i say “i don’t need a man” and it’s true/ but flowers. the flowers how i love the flowers / before they drown inside out / from their own perfume.
The first time I had a mangosteen, at a night market in Shanghai, my aunt taught me to open it by pressing my thumbs in and pulling it apart. It was absolutely eerie–it split down the middle and opened like an eye.
脱脂牛奶 …..………………. $1.00 / mama am i skeleton enough mama am i skeleton enough .………. 0.25 mile
When they called me spoiled, they meant that I was a rotten fruit, left out to waste in the humidity, sullied by forces beyond their control.
What a royal feeling to look into that bag and imagine something new on my tongue on a day like that.
What is the legacy of the People’s Republic of China?
The kumquat’s sweetness was a disguise, and once it was disrobed in your mouth, the meat inside was sour enough to make your mouth buck, to wring your tongue of its language.
I wondered how many cherries babies could eat, and what they might think of the taste, or if they just know that the sugar tasted good.
Who would keep the tree living, years after my grandparents have passed?
Pauline Park, Myles Markham, and Xoài Pham on the queer historical figures across Asia that have inspired in them a sense of belonging
I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.
In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”