Neither of us were drunk. It was just dark outside, the streets narrow, and we were turning a bend, and then the quiet thump beneath us, like a balloon deflating.
FICTION
POETRY
Sunrise
We, who come upon grief / like the hooves of a beast / cresting a hill
MICRO
The Sixth and Imperfect Tense
In / avocado oil. With little pistachios. So many possibilities.
TRANSLATION
“Leyla” and other poems
"Maybe we should never have left the forbidden paradise
the winged key fled taking flame"
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The Mirror
We sat a while in silence like two strangers, facing each other. I didn’t ask her what had happened or what she had seen, or believed she had seen, in the mirror.
Where?
Did she tell me before we were born, we were waiting in the dark? Like leaves hanging on a black tree?
Q&A with Noel Quiñones, author of Orange
… there are still many things we don’t understand about color, but we lie to ourselves to make ourselves feel safer.
