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It looks like a door, but it isn’t. It just wears the shape of it, like a wolf greasing itself in sheep fat. Here is what it isn’t—an ending or beginning, a snail of a fist or a palm-up platform waiting for a virgin’s deer-quick heart, a spindle upon which to spin out the yarn […]
Eric Blair coughed out his last red breath in 1950, but George Orwell goes stumbling on through the nightlands of America, a dead man’s pub crawl trying to drown the rhythm of a stamping boot and the claque’s counterpoint applause in microbrewery bitters and too much Bud. The White House says the truth is one […]
for Rachelle Wright No one asked the axolotl “Would you like to leave the warm peridot waters of Lake Xochimilco? Would you trade the fertile chinampas for an aquarium and floodlight scrutiny in our research labs?” Maybe if we’d asked the axolotl he’d have said, “¡Órale!” Morphing back to doggish deity Xolotl he might have […]
Ten things were created on the eve of Shabbat, between the lights of night and day, and they are: the mouth of the earth, the mouth of the well, the mouth of the donkey, the rainbow and the manna, and the staff, and the shamir, the writing, the missive and the tablets. And the world […]
Anglicize this: my name is my fucking weapon. How’d you like that? My blade that cuts through the fat of your cultures, slicing out pieces so I can suck on the gobbets, grow strong on the things you’d kept for your personal comforts, grow sleek on your inadequacies because unlike you, we’ve never had it […]
long before our time: we were forbidden gentlemen, sneaking held hands under coats and hiding love’s passwords in simple sentences. my heart is a hummingbird and your lips are sweet as a hibiscus— tuesday: I wear the only suit I have, you bought it for me because my own was loose and moth-bit. the morning’s […]
I will press myself to you until I am red as an ancient riverbank Red as a drunken flush red as my tongue swollen in my mouth for you Red like my life pressing out from itself. You impose your body’s shape On the fabric of the universe; I impose my body’s shape onto you. […]
Part I: I Am Blank Verse Abuela of the Headless Saints: hello. It’s Carlos, Emma and Osmundo’s son, tu nieto. You’ve been dead ten years. Your ghost is cheesecloth thin now, prone to holes, and if I held your soul up to the sun I could count the threads of your integrity. Ten years: no […]
She was going to be named Jean–Luc but she was not going to join the fleet. Instead, she’d build the first starship to take us out of this galaxy; we’d test this simulation with cardboard boxes in the yard —the adventures would end with peanut cookies, lepat pisang, and steamed chive dumplings as a reward […]
Aconitum (Monkshood) The wolves came down from the mountains that year and we dipped our arrows in poison brewed from monkshood root and went hunting in the forest. We’d hang a bleeding sheep from a tree and conceal ourselves upwind. We killed by starlight. As soon as the creature was wounded, we’d follow its trail […]
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