She, like the others, could only slightly feel the edge of some thoughts, and some memories. It was better that way, they all agreed.
Through the radio speakers / I hear a woman shivering. I think of my friend, newly pregnant, / also on her way to work, how she’ll twist a ring off her swollen finger.
Not upon, over, at, or near, rape is not adjacent to anything. It is the thing.
When it comes to how rape culture is enabled, made mundane, what are the hard questions we have not yet posed?
As Election Day approaches, remembering the story of my parents’ immigrant survival, from Japanese internment to community activism, proves more important than ever.
Cathy Linh Che talks about her debut collection of poems, Split, and what it means to mimic flashbacks of war, immigration, and sexual violence.