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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“I am a writer,” and I hate this part. I am a writer, so I am grateful for the requisite third-person: she is a writer and she hates writing about herself. This is her name. This is where she lives, and how. Here are a few facts that are true but safe, . . .
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The process of becoming sick may be familiar to you,or it may not. First, I had unexpected pain. This is notto be confused with previous unexpected pains.Actually, the unexpected pains had continued back foras long as I can remember.—from “Untitled (from Ghostdaughter),” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) What writer(s) or works . . .
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Stand on a bridgeThere, in the center, facing north.Feel the whole bridgeCollapse beneath you: Goodbye, bridge.—from “Rondelet for the Terminally Ill,” Volume 63, Issue 4 (Winter 2022) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first thing I wrote as an adult was a short story I intended to send . . .
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