which is to say we have never seen trees die. We have seen them break from the root hurl their limbs against windows snaptwist like brittle bone. We have seen hurricanes transparent oceans and a…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
Inside the Den
if I should say there is a wolf at the table with half my DNA and people keep inviting it back if I could do more than survive in this territory where they pass bone…
Buksán Mo Ang Ilaw
et facta est lux In the language you struggle with, light is something you open like a door, and kill like a bird, neck wrung into cursive in your warm hand. The inside of…
Leaving Home
Translated from the original Chinese by Jianan Qian and Alyssa Asquith The old men liked to say that our village was our world. I couldn’t accept this, and from the beginning, I felt that I…
Three Poems from Maša Torbica
Anni Mirabiles Gnawed women warned me: love is something spiteful spat at us by the stars. Lust, a spit we tie ourselves to turning grinning crisping for a brief feast. Wide-eyed, I watched people slice…