
time
slips off my softened skin
and I grow wings.
Do we need a man? I want to ask her, but her eyes are bright like poppies in summer heat.
tangled gold necklaces knotted/ with grief, chains my mother will not break.
I call myself “child” now like |/ ghost who calls itself alive.
သူတို့မျှော်လင့်နေကြတဲ့/ အနာဂတ်ကို/ ငါတို့ မြင်ခွင့်ရပါ့မလား။ |
do their protests/ sound out a future/
we’ll be able to witness?
映 with a skinny sun radical and 其 a pronoun/ pointing to who knows what.
What if he just said the bird waited forever to alight.
Recalling the promise of anticolonial internationalism
Most schools have cut their French programs,/ but teaching it here sparkles.
What counts as a mother language?
An interview with Kanya D’Almeida, the cowriter of Russell “Maroon” Shoatz’s memoir.
For a second, I imagine how it feels to inhabit a body people desire like gold.
Kakolór pati kan álang na tulang nin tawó / an pigrunot na bagás asín ginibong puto. |
Especially when you notice the rice flour / that she uses is the color of human bone.
Recalling the promise of anticolonial internationalism
Do we need a man? I want to ask her, but her eyes are bright like poppies in summer heat.
tangled gold necklaces knotted/ with grief, chains my mother will not break.
I call myself “child” now like |/ ghost who calls itself alive.
Most schools have cut their French programs,/ but teaching it here sparkles.
သူတို့မျှော်လင့်နေကြတဲ့/ အနာဂတ်ကို/ ငါတို့ မြင်ခွင့်ရပါ့မလား။ |
do their protests/ sound out a future/
we’ll be able to witness?
What counts as a mother language?
An interview with Kanya D’Almeida, the cowriter of Russell “Maroon” Shoatz’s memoir.
映 with a skinny sun radical and 其 a pronoun/ pointing to who knows what.
For a second, I imagine how it feels to inhabit a body people desire like gold.
What if he just said the bird waited forever to alight.
Kakolór pati kan álang na tulang nin tawó / an pigrunot na bagás asín ginibong puto. |
Especially when you notice the rice flour / that she uses is the color of human bone.