When the streets are stained sea blue, they are graven in time
น้ำลายเฟ้อเต็มปากสำรากมนต์ / กลิ่นคละคลุ้งฝูงคนนะจังงัง || Spewing out its gibberish chants / Luring people into rhetorical trance
It is a school for the children with no tongues who were born to tongueless mothers. The school teaches only one subject: patience. “Patience is the greatest virtue in life,” say the fathers who can speak.
In a new collection from A World Without Cages, seven writers reflect on building a different future while holding the weight of the past
In the Texas prison system, my name is Chino. You will not know who I am unless you are immediate family or one of my few friends.
Imagine the tens of millions of years that American prisons have stolen, woven back into society.
Question: with sharp enough clippers, can you help / any tree grow small? With sharp enough clippers, can you outlive your / kids?
How does violence blossom // What’s known must be made unknown
a land mistaken for a people is a people / objectified as spoils of the land
I forced myself to tell her to accept it and think of it as entering into a new theater. Turn it into raw material and endure to write about it.
/ Pərˈ(h)aps / preceding us, one ballad to each tongue,
oh, / ‘absəˌlōō(y)tlē /, we refrained from singing
api tak sempat bertanya: apakah kata-kata bisa / terbakar? || fire didn’t have the chance to ask: can words / burn down?
不要以為 / 八八十月 過了還會回來 / 除非有十一月 || don’t assume that / October ‘88 will ever return / except in November
Now sitting behind barbed wire, hugging his knees / looking at the sky, the earth, the clouds / a bird’s wing like a far-fetched dream.
Two women write about imprisonment, one from the outside and one from the inside.
“The very moment I thought I was lost / My dungeon shook and the chains fell off.”
It’s not the bullet that makes you bolt, / but the very words /
emerging from the muzzle’s restraint / the classroom in disguise
Is every english word I pull from my mouth a child screaming / over the soft chants of ma and nanni ma?
A peek into the life of NYC’s Iranian Americans amid recent tensions
When the children / correctly used their chopsticks to pick up the rolled eggs and / separated the kimchi without splinters, they knew they were / loved by their food. The ashes knew it too.
& if the speaker does not know that this language is faulty, then the speaker has been secretly muzzled
น้ำลายเฟ้อเต็มปากสำรากมนต์ / กลิ่นคละคลุ้งฝูงคนนะจังงัง || Spewing out its gibberish chants / Luring people into rhetorical trance
api tak sempat bertanya: apakah kata-kata bisa / terbakar? || fire didn’t have the chance to ask: can words / burn down?
It is a school for the children with no tongues who were born to tongueless mothers. The school teaches only one subject: patience. “Patience is the greatest virtue in life,” say the fathers who can speak.
不要以為 / 八八十月 過了還會回來 / 除非有十一月 || don’t assume that / October ‘88 will ever return / except in November
In a new collection from A World Without Cages, seven writers reflect on building a different future while holding the weight of the past
Now sitting behind barbed wire, hugging his knees / looking at the sky, the earth, the clouds / a bird’s wing like a far-fetched dream.
In the Texas prison system, my name is Chino. You will not know who I am unless you are immediate family or one of my few friends.
Two women write about imprisonment, one from the outside and one from the inside.
Imagine the tens of millions of years that American prisons have stolen, woven back into society.
“The very moment I thought I was lost / My dungeon shook and the chains fell off.”
Question: with sharp enough clippers, can you help / any tree grow small? With sharp enough clippers, can you outlive your / kids?
It’s not the bullet that makes you bolt, / but the very words /
emerging from the muzzle’s restraint / the classroom in disguise
How does violence blossom // What’s known must be made unknown
Is every english word I pull from my mouth a child screaming / over the soft chants of ma and nanni ma?
a land mistaken for a people is a people / objectified as spoils of the land
A peek into the life of NYC’s Iranian Americans amid recent tensions
I forced myself to tell her to accept it and think of it as entering into a new theater. Turn it into raw material and endure to write about it.
When the children / correctly used their chopsticks to pick up the rolled eggs and / separated the kimchi without splinters, they knew they were / loved by their food. The ashes knew it too.
/ Pərˈ(h)aps / preceding us, one ballad to each tongue,
oh, / ‘absəˌlōō(y)tlē /, we refrained from singing
& if the speaker does not know that this language is faulty, then the speaker has been secretly muzzled