The First Wife

To be haunted from the inside, from your own mind, is so much harder than being threatened by a real person.



On Devotion

what will you whisper into my crevices this time?


From the Archives: The Den of Earl

It was a favorite line of his. More than him saying it, I was frustrated by the expectation that a nine-year-old should know how to thaw and cook red meat. I was forever failing at things I was never taught to do.


Evolution

Dear Honeyblooded, won’t you tune for me /
an ambered fate, a dance atop beauty




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Photo of a dark corridor with a large rectangular window at the end of it. At the top of the window is a small sign with an arrow pointing to a possible doorway out. Deep golden light pours in through the window, illuminating the walls in a yellow-orange sunset tone. Photo is by Christopher Tang on Unsplash.

Brand New Noise

—her footsteps / on cool white tile, walking down / the hallway.


Image shows a close up of an abstract painting. The background is black mixed with streaks of red. A white trail tinged with red is in the foreground, containing swirling overlapping patterns. It fades into the black at the bottom of the image.

Pig Brain

whatever i lack, there’s an offal for that


A cloth with stitches.

Notes on My Grandpa’s Senninbari and the In-Between of Art and Politics

Spending time in the archives and, like most people I know, receiving numerous mutual aid requests, I’m struck by how both senninbari and fundraisers remind us of human-made tragedies and policy failures, as well as the commitment individuals and communities can make to each other, despite.