There are few men who will communicate with you in all the languages you know.
Interrogating the Asian American disconnect
in the debate over NYC’s specialized high schools
As I looked at her notes from my papers in her class and her emails to me, I realized she had so much belief in my work. She was a teacher who had so much belief in her students.
i had a twin who was 95% water. a twin who latched its mouth onto my heart and drank me dry.
Astra unwrapped her long spindly fingers and weighed his member with a chilling fascination.
An introduction to the Transpacific Literary Project’s pieces of Plastic through a weaving of voices and questions to come
Woman who puts up her hair comb holds / up the sky. There is the legend and probably a lie.
I keep the butts of my clove cigarettes in a candy tin. I pound it shut, hide it away. So it stays a secret.
Cixin Liu on first contact, Viet Thanh Nguyen on Thanksgiving, the future of Mission Chinese, and new fiction from Rachel Khong.
‘Which poem can defeat / the fear of dying / a meaningless death / and how to write that poem / staring into the barrel?’
The writer talks about her new memoir, Olive Witch, subverting her identity, and the tenuous link between memory and writing.
The deadline for submission has been extended to July 15, 2019. Both the Neighborhoods Fellowship and the Muslim Communities Fellowship start on September 6, 2019.
In mining the contours of being elsewhere, Meena Alexander widened the narrow passage between her birth and her death.
A fitting end to my crazy stalker-ish experience with Dancing with the Stars
“When people ask me how much of the book is autobiographical, I often tell them, ‘Well, you know the story where the man turns into a suitcase? That’s my uncle.'”
Fingers caked with wet / rice break backs and bellies, / pluck gills, / scrape eggs, tear limbs / Tita takes our legs– / cracks them / under a glass jar for us. / We suck shells ’til twilight.
The Hong Kong poet talks the Umbrella movement, being an outsider and an insider in Hong Kong, and how she translates the world.
I tell C no one loves me like a mother would. / C says no one loves a fragile queer. I choke / on the thread as it slices words out:/ Say Ma say Mother America say Mother India say love me like a mother won’t.
Suppressed sexual violence in the name of revolution lay in the abyss of our consciousness.
On Marie Kondo and the painful joy of preserving family history
Ashok speaks to Miho Hatori of Cibo Matto about her new creative endeavors, Tokyo versus New York, and what gets lost in translation.
Interrogating the Asian American disconnect
in the debate over NYC’s specialized high schools
The deadline for submission has been extended to July 15, 2019. Both the Neighborhoods Fellowship and the Muslim Communities Fellowship start on September 6, 2019.
As I looked at her notes from my papers in her class and her emails to me, I realized she had so much belief in my work. She was a teacher who had so much belief in her students.
In mining the contours of being elsewhere, Meena Alexander widened the narrow passage between her birth and her death.
i had a twin who was 95% water. a twin who latched its mouth onto my heart and drank me dry.
A fitting end to my crazy stalker-ish experience with Dancing with the Stars
Astra unwrapped her long spindly fingers and weighed his member with a chilling fascination.
“When people ask me how much of the book is autobiographical, I often tell them, ‘Well, you know the story where the man turns into a suitcase? That’s my uncle.'”
An introduction to the Transpacific Literary Project’s pieces of Plastic through a weaving of voices and questions to come
Fingers caked with wet / rice break backs and bellies, / pluck gills, / scrape eggs, tear limbs / Tita takes our legs– / cracks them / under a glass jar for us. / We suck shells ’til twilight.
Woman who puts up her hair comb holds / up the sky. There is the legend and probably a lie.
The Hong Kong poet talks the Umbrella movement, being an outsider and an insider in Hong Kong, and how she translates the world.
I keep the butts of my clove cigarettes in a candy tin. I pound it shut, hide it away. So it stays a secret.
I tell C no one loves me like a mother would. / C says no one loves a fragile queer. I choke / on the thread as it slices words out:/ Say Ma say Mother America say Mother India say love me like a mother won’t.
Cixin Liu on first contact, Viet Thanh Nguyen on Thanksgiving, the future of Mission Chinese, and new fiction from Rachel Khong.
Suppressed sexual violence in the name of revolution lay in the abyss of our consciousness.
‘Which poem can defeat / the fear of dying / a meaningless death / and how to write that poem / staring into the barrel?’
On Marie Kondo and the painful joy of preserving family history
The writer talks about her new memoir, Olive Witch, subverting her identity, and the tenuous link between memory and writing.
Ashok speaks to Miho Hatori of Cibo Matto about her new creative endeavors, Tokyo versus New York, and what gets lost in translation.