‘Skin molted like a lazy adder/while sinew pooled like glue.//Bone fractured next/like desert rose glass/then melted too.’

By Tom Phan
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Fiction

Scotch-taped at the mirrors’ edges were photographs of birthdays, family vacations, running in the rain. Their edges had curled from sixteen years of steam from hot showers and baths.

Fiction

From comfort food to college applications, this zine showcases the stories of undocumented women from the Asian Diaspora

Fiction

‘I glanced curiously at the stranger. He looked old and frail. The sky outside the window seemed darker with his figure in profile. Though he was sitting next to us, he appeared to be somewhere else entirely.’

Fiction

I see my forebears, warriors in retirement, laboring in endless fields, bustling markets, and desolate seas. One by one they all stop, turn to me, and say: “If you have good hands, anything can happen.”

Fiction

‘I am, I want to be, the rain, I want to be the ocean, just so I could say back to her: I am home now.’

Fiction

In video games, the fear of the sudden propels you forward. Not so in life.

Fiction

Did she look up, see the lettering on his nametag, N-A-D-A-R-A-J-A, and think to herself, “A Tamil I don’t know? In Findlay, Ohio?”

Fiction

‘Bonita, that engineer from Spain who always worked late, must have gone home already. Yong looked down at his ironed shirt and felt disappointed—if he had done the third floor half an hour earlier he might have seen her.’

Fiction

‘What else was contained within the pages? What had come before the tofu boxes and dusty scrolls, the grumpy old man who spent his last two decades in America cloistered in my uncle’s back house?’

Fiction

‘That first day in America, she didn’t know the difference between police officers and immigration officers, or between waiting rooms and holding cells.’

Fiction

Scotch-taped at the mirrors’ edges were photographs of birthdays, family vacations, running in the rain. Their edges had curled from sixteen years of steam from hot showers and baths.

Fiction

In video games, the fear of the sudden propels you forward. Not so in life.

Fiction

From comfort food to college applications, this zine showcases the stories of undocumented women from the Asian Diaspora

Fiction

Did she look up, see the lettering on his nametag, N-A-D-A-R-A-J-A, and think to herself, “A Tamil I don’t know? In Findlay, Ohio?”

Fiction

‘I glanced curiously at the stranger. He looked old and frail. The sky outside the window seemed darker with his figure in profile. Though he was sitting next to us, he appeared to be somewhere else entirely.’

Fiction

‘Bonita, that engineer from Spain who always worked late, must have gone home already. Yong looked down at his ironed shirt and felt disappointed—if he had done the third floor half an hour earlier he might have seen her.’

Fiction

I see my forebears, warriors in retirement, laboring in endless fields, bustling markets, and desolate seas. One by one they all stop, turn to me, and say: “If you have good hands, anything can happen.”

Fiction

‘What else was contained within the pages? What had come before the tofu boxes and dusty scrolls, the grumpy old man who spent his last two decades in America cloistered in my uncle’s back house?’

Fiction

‘I am, I want to be, the rain, I want to be the ocean, just so I could say back to her: I am home now.’

Fiction

‘That first day in America, she didn’t know the difference between police officers and immigration officers, or between waiting rooms and holding cells.’