Have you been at the feast of the heated hearts? 

Stars, trees, lasers, lights, everything locking into nothing, everything together yet apart.

I was struck by the world I tasted—woods, Baja California granite, the winter of the grapes’ growth.

I needed the concoctions F poured to quiet the things that grated and grew wilder each year—the confusion of being part white in an Arab country, part Arab in an expat world.

I look into the history; I circumnavigate—

These writers elegize and scrutinize the liminal spaces between taste, smell, and image, between individual truth and collective meaning-making

After Rebecca Lindenberg

Su Yu-Xin’s paintings and mixed media pieces

Locheequat, fruit of the non-doing.

She ambushes the sky, burns a brand on its hip

Translated from Hanja (Old Korean) to Hangul (modern Korean) and then English

I speak with the weight of / hours left on this side of the pacific

There is a waxing // for every waning.

I am only the height and width of a girl. 

I know of nothing stronger than the laughter of these women.

A special folio on alchemy, memory, and sensation