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The Magazine
This is a Body • Requiem / For Victor Gutierrez
Maya Garcia
Poetry
This is a body / and this body is this thing of terror—how / in this world every / woman is a survivor and every…
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Root Systems
Issue Parent
How do we get back to the root of things — how can we pull up the weeds in our work to make space for new growth?
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YAO
jonah wu
Fiction
,
Prose
In the beginning, what was my name?
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Confessions to My Ancestors
Jen Soong
Nonfiction
,
Prose
Confession: I don’t know my ancestors’ names. Also: my Mandarin is lousy. I have never been to our ancestral village.
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Tomorrow Will be Even Brighter
Daniel Tam-Claiborne
Fiction
,
Prose
The first thing you need to know about Hot Spring Leisure City is that there are no hot springs.
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these things now for my companions i shall sing beautifully
beloved suruae ibiene
Poetry
what would queer visions of the family network look like?
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HTML Color Swatches in Black [Girl]
Ariana Benson
Poetry
Editor’s Pick
“taken-Black” …girl, too umber for proper / amber alert. Black / girl, skipped right past “missing” into / “Lost: B L A C K girl”. nobody / even noticed
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Instructions for a Child of an Assembly Line
Brian Dang
Poetry
Editor’s Pick
You are younger than her labor for [redacted aircraft manufacturing company].
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Cadet College, Kohat
Rabia Saeed
Fiction
,
Prose
Humza went to school with me in Kohat. We were always competing with each other for the first position in class.
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How to Deprogram a Parent in 7 Easy Steps
LiAnne Yu
Nonfiction
,
Prose
Do you have an elderly parent who has fallen victim to internet conspiracy theories?
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I wanted to wash my face and my feet. I wanted to be invited somewhere.
hannah rubin
Fiction
,
Prose
I was being led by something. So tender and raw inside of my body that I can’t point to a specific place — there was me before I had ever seen a dam.
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Smoke Screens
Bobuq Sayed
Nonfiction
,
Prose
The week the pandemic hits, I break my lease in Little Haiti and drive fifteen hours up the I-95 to be with my parents.
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This Country is Motherless and Makes me Forget
Sanam Sheriff
Poetry
I am not. Two weeks or more since a call. To be in America, / You must see American, close your eyes and dream American
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There is No Other Way to Say This
Saba Keramati
Poetry
Every morning the sparrows sing / Every day there is another funeral
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here’s the space i carry. here’s the space that’s empty. • this our sunken sweet parade
Abi Pollokoff
Poetry
so let’s talk then about unruliness / how it defies the joys of order & everything / that’s missed.
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