“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.”

By Kim Min Jeong, Soeun Seo, Jake Levine, Park Joon
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Poetry

Love letters spill / down the narrow stairs as I leave. I think I would like nothing / to miss her like I do, hence this tenderness, hence my hands smudging / myself. 


Poetry

One day you’ll be married. May Allah make your naseeb good. May you find a man who prays and follows the deen.

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Poetry

She does not know if she’s an “opportunist”; this probably means she is an opportunist; She wonders if there is Judgement Day before the revolution; She forces all of her sexual partners to watch The Battle of Algiers.

Poetry

rises, bloodied, and breathing and begins walking as if in hope. / of being heard.

Poetry

a sunburn the shape of the settler dictator’s face on everyone who will claim /
FREE PALESTINE’s earth but not FREE PALESTINE’s skin

Poetry

Let it be known this country has a memory / Let it be known the news called this / “Unrest in America” / as if for four hundred years / America’s been resting just fine

Poetry

Our Lady of Scapulars, we carry you around / like credentials, like disgrace, we suffer
this insufferable heat and your packaged spirit’s / smothered by the reek of our sweat—how much closer / must we be?

Poetry

He says that every winter was a cheap metal spoon// bent backward in a steaming pile of rice. So much of what he says is practice // for another language.

Poetry

I turn the page in this war criminals diary because I / can’t stop

Poetry

i love you / too much / let us reason in dissonance / play mozart on mondays / barefoot & / the wisteria i grow wild / the hands i keep sharp—

Poetry

somewhere a tiger loosens its throat or so she imagines / the rubber trees looming she lifts her paring knife to the day’s throat

Poetry

They say / the faithful go to God with the love // of a child, they say the soul sees everything / without eyes. I am trying to understand // my life.

Poetry

Back then I was committed to the color blue, felt moved to paint my walls, nails, furniture the same shade of teal. Now my body swells at the window with casual longing.

Poetry

At birth, my mother recites my ba zi / to a monk, and like all good daughters, // I do not ask. How can a mother / help but lead her daughter // Astray?

Poetry

Or Say: a piece of rope at the top of the stairs where shame broke even and shame blame and victim bad-name got it’s nasty plug.

Fiction

“The girl didn’t want a new life; she wanted her old comfortable life, though it was as worn out as her pajamas.”

Poetry

We ride knife-cut roads across this back / of continent to the prairie’s torn edge / to a place where shadows limn loess

Poetry

Snapshots from a South Korean dissident poet

Poetry

Love letters spill / down the narrow stairs as I leave. I think I would like nothing / to miss her like I do, hence this tenderness, hence my hands smudging / myself. 


Poetry

i love you / too much / let us reason in dissonance / play mozart on mondays / barefoot & / the wisteria i grow wild / the hands i keep sharp—

Poetry

One day you’ll be married. May Allah make your naseeb good. May you find a man who prays and follows the deen.

Poetry

somewhere a tiger loosens its throat or so she imagines / the rubber trees looming she lifts her paring knife to the day’s throat

Essays

Creativity, as it turns out, is especially hard when your brain is in survival mode.

Poetry

They say / the faithful go to God with the love // of a child, they say the soul sees everything / without eyes. I am trying to understand // my life.

Poetry

She does not know if she’s an “opportunist”; this probably means she is an opportunist; She wonders if there is Judgement Day before the revolution; She forces all of her sexual partners to watch The Battle of Algiers.

Poetry

Back then I was committed to the color blue, felt moved to paint my walls, nails, furniture the same shade of teal. Now my body swells at the window with casual longing.

Poetry

rises, bloodied, and breathing and begins walking as if in hope. / of being heard.

Poetry

a sunburn the shape of the settler dictator’s face on everyone who will claim /
FREE PALESTINE’s earth but not FREE PALESTINE’s skin

Poetry

At birth, my mother recites my ba zi / to a monk, and like all good daughters, // I do not ask. How can a mother / help but lead her daughter // Astray?

Poetry

Let it be known this country has a memory / Let it be known the news called this / “Unrest in America” / as if for four hundred years / America’s been resting just fine

Poetry

Or Say: a piece of rope at the top of the stairs where shame broke even and shame blame and victim bad-name got it’s nasty plug.

Poetry

Our Lady of Scapulars, we carry you around / like credentials, like disgrace, we suffer
this insufferable heat and your packaged spirit’s / smothered by the reek of our sweat—how much closer / must we be?

Fiction

“The girl didn’t want a new life; she wanted her old comfortable life, though it was as worn out as her pajamas.”

Poetry

He says that every winter was a cheap metal spoon// bent backward in a steaming pile of rice. So much of what he says is practice // for another language.

Poetry

We ride knife-cut roads across this back / of continent to the prairie’s torn edge / to a place where shadows limn loess

Poetry

I turn the page in this war criminals diary because I / can’t stop

Poetry

Snapshots from a South Korean dissident poet