the smell of burning carpet like when a place someone lives is burning, photographs filling with black water before curling at the edges like hats.
BACK OF THE ENVELOPE
FICTION
From the Archives: Xiaogui / 小鬼
This is a different kind of dark than the one beneath a bedcover, more like the one inside a fist, a dark where we can’t see our own arms and can pretend for a while that we haven’t yet been booted from our mothers by that god who gets paid to kick girls out of the womb...
POETRY
Kay Sage Silences the Wind
Like any woman, / I am swirl and sharp angled
MICRO
surely there is someone
nightly I lift my quilt hoping
they are there.
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