North Korean poetry, slavery and life insurance, and the photography of Japanese incarceration.
Nobody can stop things if they want to go back to their roots.
‘A man kisses a pigeon and another kisses a dog and / both times I look away to gather the spikes of trees into a / dripping faucet.’
The author of How I Became a North Korean speaks about the power of fiction to give clarity to the world.
‘I wanted to be the last of my people, / a girl without mother, father, sister, brother— / a girl belonging to no one, / my only belongings a cormorant skirt / and a cage of tiny birds.’
‘The signs were like a collective raft, keeping them afloat as they waited on responses to their calls of distress.’