shall god taste / the sick / bodies also / singing / also breaking

By Shareen K. Murayama
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Fiction

In the shelter of our happiness, his shell shone brighter and brighter until one day, it split open and crumbled into dust to reveal a baby, golden skinned and blinking up at me.

Essays

I am no longer striving to understand something foreign, or to earn some measure of acceptance or belonging that I don’t deserve. I am here, simply, to see the land that my family came from, to know that we have been here before.

Poetry

When I look back, I think about all the times Gatorade has let me down in my life.

Essays

Paragraph by paragraph I am piecing together the story of my Indonesian family—their trauma and struggle against colonial rule—alongside my dad.

Essays

Far from our barrios, mountains, and islands, we cook, so that we may practice swallowing our undesirable truths, acidic and blood-heavy.

Poetry

It’s funny how ppl were saying that the peaches in Parasite / were some serious motif & symbolism of prosperity’s toxicity

Essays

Land holds so much of our history and memory—both personal and collective. In this special folio, seven writers investigate and explore Asian relationships with land.

Poetry

I stow away the sentences in which there is no you in my drawer right after writing them I remember the time when I emptied the bottom of my drawer for you There I found stuff like a key that became useless forever

Poetry

Left home at sixteen, said you wanted to go see the West. Grandpa didn’t stop / you. Figured you might die in some jungle across the Pacific.

Fiction

That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.

Essays

Regardless of who is in the White House in 2021, Asian and Black trans women will not be ignored or silenced. Even with a Biden win, the fight is not over.

Fiction

Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered

Fiction

She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.

Poetry

we inherited sickly
 / roots our ancestors couldn’t plant / deep enough to
 / grow

Video

Watch readings by ten poets from this year’s Best American Poetry anthology, edited by Paisley Rekdal

Fiction

There was a time, Abu says, before your great-grandmother, when water was blue because it was a bruise, when it could feel our hands like the skin of a fruit.

Fiction

Sometimes she grew so nervous that she had to sit in her room for hours until her hands stopped trembling. She wondered if her daughters ever thought about her.

Interviews

“Sex worker activism is always based in anti-police, anti-prison activism.”

Marginalia

From tender coming-of-age and coming-out stories to eye-opening historical fiction & unforgettable fantasy

Interviews

“For Korean women writers, for whatever kind of poetry they want to write, I think this country has excellent soil for growing in any direction you want.”

Fiction

In the shelter of our happiness, his shell shone brighter and brighter until one day, it split open and crumbled into dust to reveal a baby, golden skinned and blinking up at me.

Essays

Regardless of who is in the White House in 2021, Asian and Black trans women will not be ignored or silenced. Even with a Biden win, the fight is not over.

Essays

I am no longer striving to understand something foreign, or to earn some measure of acceptance or belonging that I don’t deserve. I am here, simply, to see the land that my family came from, to know that we have been here before.

Fiction

Since the new government promised land reform, the have-nots in your father’s village buckled over with joy, while the landed were bewildered

Poetry

When I look back, I think about all the times Gatorade has let me down in my life.

Fiction

She was a prisoner in this home, where death and decay had collected like a fog.

Essays

Paragraph by paragraph I am piecing together the story of my Indonesian family—their trauma and struggle against colonial rule—alongside my dad.

Poetry

we inherited sickly
 / roots our ancestors couldn’t plant / deep enough to
 / grow

Essays

Far from our barrios, mountains, and islands, we cook, so that we may practice swallowing our undesirable truths, acidic and blood-heavy.

Video

Watch readings by ten poets from this year’s Best American Poetry anthology, edited by Paisley Rekdal

Poetry

It’s funny how ppl were saying that the peaches in Parasite / were some serious motif & symbolism of prosperity’s toxicity

Fiction

There was a time, Abu says, before your great-grandmother, when water was blue because it was a bruise, when it could feel our hands like the skin of a fruit.

Essays

Land holds so much of our history and memory—both personal and collective. In this special folio, seven writers investigate and explore Asian relationships with land.

Fiction

Sometimes she grew so nervous that she had to sit in her room for hours until her hands stopped trembling. She wondered if her daughters ever thought about her.

Poetry

I stow away the sentences in which there is no you in my drawer right after writing them I remember the time when I emptied the bottom of my drawer for you There I found stuff like a key that became useless forever

Interviews

“Sex worker activism is always based in anti-police, anti-prison activism.”

Poetry

Left home at sixteen, said you wanted to go see the West. Grandpa didn’t stop / you. Figured you might die in some jungle across the Pacific.

Marginalia

From tender coming-of-age and coming-out stories to eye-opening historical fiction & unforgettable fantasy

Fiction

That spring my wife covered the walls of our living room in newsprint.

Interviews

“For Korean women writers, for whatever kind of poetry they want to write, I think this country has excellent soil for growing in any direction you want.”