Prose
Prose
Queer is a Verb
In 2007, I had just freshly graduated from high school. I was a year ahead of my class and had put in the extra work due to acute boredom
Fuel Crisis
“The car is hemorrhaging fuel,” I told Dad over the phone as we approached Grandma and Grandpa’s place.
Picture Me Rollin’
For three years, I boarded a bus in West Pullman, then transferred to the Red Line train to attend Chicago’s Roosevelt University.
Is this your first time?
There are things you can’t ask at the clinic. Among your prescribed list of acceptable questions: Where is the bathroom?
Still Life/Wallpaper: Paintings
Since the end of the Cambodian Civil War in 1975, and the horrific killing fields following the next four years, Cambodia has never recovered.
Diamond Blanket Sky
Like all nights, this one was muggy and black. It will rain tonight, he thought as he rubbed his arthritic knee. Maybe.
Inheritance: A Dance
Many of the “Indians” — that’s what they call themselves and what we call them too — in our small Alaskan town live in a separate community called Saxman.
Heaven is a Place on Earth
Out past the bridge, past the edge of town where the old houses give way to the stretch of firs that continues for a few miles before dissolving into shrubland, there is a little church
Out of the Shadows
The topic of “real” American identity and assimilation has never been so simultaneously divisive and uniting.
The Dissected, Standing
Beyond dead. Torsos glazed with epoxy, exuding an icy sheen. A spinal column exposed, its flimsy cord dangling from a robust sacrum.
