“You remind me of that woman I killed,” says Kenny, in one of his inspired lies.

By Zoe Leonard
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Poetry

“Portrait of EEEEEEEEEE” and “On Disappointments in Music”

Fiction

The faceless child took shape in the darkness.

Essays

The climate is changing. Should our cultural recipes change too?

Poetry

莫道不銷魂 | Don’t say I’m not overcome with feeling.

Poetry

What good’s grief / that fails to earn resurrection?

Poetry

I have never seen you with black hair. I will never see you again.

Poetry

you lean into me as if to complete the fragment in/ my mouth.

Fiction

She never forgave Maa for being the woman my father loved.

Essays

Our clocks simply don’t chime the same tune

Poetry

Ammā is perched on the doormat, / greasing her heels with Tiger Balm Red.

Poetry

I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.

Poetry

You are Rapunzel fresh out the tower.

Essays

Tending to a garden in Taiwan.

Essays

On translating Li Qingzhao

Fiction

Men love anything that shines.

An open call for journalism on Asian immigrant and Muslim communities

Poetry

(siempre los míos son los ojos tuyos) | (always my eyes are your eyes)

Poetry

shoes saved like gas receipts
or used boarding passes

Fiction

Song Từ Thức vốn tính hay rượu, thích đàn, ham thơ, mến cảnh. |
His passions: music, poetry, and beautiful landscapes.

Fiction

In the silence, his forfeit festered.

Poetry

“Portrait of EEEEEEEEEE” and “On Disappointments in Music”

Poetry

I am learning to birth pearls from a dull knife.

Fiction

The faceless child took shape in the darkness.

Poetry

You are Rapunzel fresh out the tower.

Essays

The climate is changing. Should our cultural recipes change too?

Essays

Tending to a garden in Taiwan.

Poetry

莫道不銷魂 | Don’t say I’m not overcome with feeling.

Essays

On translating Li Qingzhao

Poetry

What good’s grief / that fails to earn resurrection?

Fiction

Men love anything that shines.

Poetry

I have never seen you with black hair. I will never see you again.

An open call for journalism on Asian immigrant and Muslim communities

Poetry

you lean into me as if to complete the fragment in/ my mouth.

Poetry

(siempre los míos son los ojos tuyos) | (always my eyes are your eyes)

Fiction

She never forgave Maa for being the woman my father loved.

Poetry

shoes saved like gas receipts
or used boarding passes

Essays

Our clocks simply don’t chime the same tune

Fiction

Song Từ Thức vốn tính hay rượu, thích đàn, ham thơ, mến cảnh. |
His passions: music, poetry, and beautiful landscapes.

Poetry

Ammā is perched on the doormat, / greasing her heels with Tiger Balm Red.

Fiction

In the silence, his forfeit festered.