“A woman walks in alone after hours, all the machines quiet, though she can’t hate them today. The dry-cleaning tank is square and tall so she must stand on tip-toes to run her cracked hands along the top, muttering old Korean in neat strands of sound. A piece of skin flakes off . . .
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Chaos said, “O, Mei Ling, give me eyes so that I can admire your beauty.” So, Mei Ling punctured two wounds into his forehead. And as he gazed longingly into her eyes, Chaos said, “Oh beautiful one, I can’t smell your sweet scent.” So, Mei Ling cut two holes for his nostrils. . . .
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Photograph: Samina Najmi (right) with her sister and Amma in 1994. “I called her Amma. It’s an old-fashioned word for “Ammi,” mother, but I called her Amma because that’s what my mother called her. Before she shrank, Amma was five feet tall. She had long, black hair which she pulled into a . . .
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The morning’s inexplicable sadness. A vague salty-sweetness, permeating the hours.I sit at the breakfast table with my daughter, eating squares of mochi.The outer shell, risen like the carapace of a crab. Crisp skin and soft, gooey interior.I once read that ambivalence means both very far and very close.—from “Ode to Mochi”, from . . .
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“Devon is a fourth-grader in Guilford, Connecticut when he begins his work in Fairy Theory. The project for Language Arts grows way beyond the single-page, class presentation. He fills notebooks with ideas and stories and maps and fairy family trees. He learns to shut-up about his ideas because it is not wonder . . .
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“SHNIP! That’s all it takes these days. Just a little shnip. And it’s painless, too. If, that is, you decide to take the Zonex they offer you at orientation (and why wouldn’t you?). And if you opt for the blindfold, so much the better. The sight of the ShadeBlade can still put the fear . . .
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“Flory slept in and her family left without her. They were already standing with all the other families in her aunt’s front yard, sipping second coffees and cooking in the sun.”—from “Parade”, Fall 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 3) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first thing I wrote . . .
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Just now the thing insidethe flowering beauty bush is mewlingas little ones do wanting warm milkor having a cramp meaning no one loves them.—from “Walking her into the beautiful night”, Fall 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 3) Tell us about one of the first pieces you wrote.The first deliberately creative piece I recall . . .
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“One at a time, the men emerged; their arms were dense with tattoos, earlobes deformed by gappers, noses pierced by silver rings. They looked, Annie thought, like they’d given up on being human, had begun transforming themselves into whatever came next.”—from “All Ink and Metal”, Fall 2018 (Vol. 59, Issue 3) Tell . . .
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Last time, that was nice, all of us there, and her sat sidewayson a chair, short of breath after bringing out the yams, a slabin their thick pyrex. And the last time I saw Michael nakedwas nice because I noted the color of his skin—cream with onetablespoon of coffee stirred in, that . . .
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