Prose
Prose
Female While in Mexico
Hers is a country of dead people. All those graves scattered over the hill, the white crosses, the angels with their hands on their chests, the pinwheels that spin over children’s graves.
Outline of What I Want to Say to My Sister
On the phone, you tell me you were frozen, then brought back to life. The freezing shrunk you and stretched you, and you became ugly.
What do you know about one-night stands?
You will be twenty or twenty-one or twenty-two, no younger than nineteen, no older than twenty-four.
The Enigma
I was looking for Samuel Bernstein’s novel, Lulu, at The Strand, a giant stack of books teetering in the crook of my right arm.
Plainclothes Agenda
My interdisciplinary art practice evolved from drawings I made while sharing open and public spaces with others.
It’s me, Mom.
My parents gave up a comfortable life in China so that their children could have better opportunities.
On Race and Small Talk with the Neighbors
We found our home driving through the neighborhood adjacent to where I used to live when I was single.
Incel “Empowerment”
I have spent the last couple of weeks surveying online discussion forums populated by self-identified “incels,” a community of categorically straight men who claim their “involuntary celibacy” as a condition of oppression.
Apostrophe
I was ten years old. We were against the wall, all twelve of us, like a criminal lineup outside the girls’ locker room.
Version
It tasted lemony, a smudge of sweet acid on the tip of her tongue, hot from the sun where it had been growing until the moment she plucked it.
