紫薯, a mother’s boiling incense, herbal ginger tea山峰, summit of skies, an unwrapped shin almost fire-scalded redtobacco, whistling grey pipe of meshed 廣州 air and 1970s pollutionmy father dodging into villages with naked children, small mounds of dirt baked with stolen potatoes, red snakes threading my mother’s inky bath—from “Red,” Volume . . .
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I am often mistaken for a tiny biting inset. No one cares to know my taxonomic name. The term “midge” will suffice. Any little two-winged fly can be a midge. There are highland midges and phantom midges, midges with affectionate nicknames like “punkies” and “no-see-ums.”—from “13 Considerations of the Holy Bug,” Volume . . .
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A small crushed garter snake lay belly up on the warm road. A baby maybe. I was cruising downhill in my manual wheelchair on a gently winding road in upstate New York when I encountered it—my very first roadkill. I passed it, then pushed back up a few yards to investigate.—from “You . . .
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cum on in / to my big show / dnt b shy / but dnt look down / wut do you make / of my image—from “diagnosing,” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.In second grade, I pasted pictures of flowers I cut . . .
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In an attempt to escape another 5AM / got sick stayed sick hospital memory / pink coat phlebotomist posed with puncture / a butterfuly needle to draw 4 vacutainers of / hard to pull hard to flow blood jam / in an attempt to point pain—from “denominator-mandate,” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter . . .
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I workthe soil it echoes with the footsetps of the worldI make my body tremble like a fallen leaf and sinkand I thirst for words of life which may bud in tomorrow’s loam—from “Loam” by Shiki Itsuma, Translated by John Newton Webb, Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one . . .
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Five minutes later and I was already regretting going with him. I fell behind, uneasy. I hoped he wouldn’t notice, that he’d carry on walking. But he stopped and turned around. It seemed he wouldn’t move an inch until I was right beside him. His smile read catch up, quick. I told . . .
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Because of my poor hearingtwo old friends thinkthey can make mischiefin front of me.—From “I Blacklisted Two Old Friends” by Zuo You, Translated by Yi Zhe, Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you translated.Zuo You has suffered from a hearing impairment at the age . . .
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She says, I care little about what’s said in the short term. She cracks her shoulder blades. She wonders if she waters them, would they grow wings? She says, I care about what happens tomorrow or the next day or the end of next month when the doctor pronounces my heart obsolete.—from . . .
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Our old ones are dying. Their parents restrained every syllable. the children floated away from their homes to boarding schools. graveyards, and war zones. It is my fifth day in the hospital. Outside for the first time. I hold my medicine bag in my pocket, and I think about Granny Marie. A . . .
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