‘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   

A day without a hate crime, Asian-American activism in 1970s Los Angeles, worlds made possible by the NEA

Essays

Sustainable eating can often feel like the privilege of a well-heeled elite, but how do the appetites and labor of New York City’s immigrant communities fit into the picture?

Fiction

‘I wonder what happens to skin when it is robbed of touch. Does it break? Does it know to breathe? Does it forget the painful sweetness of a tickle?’

Poetry

‘They love long hours of blackout. / They love this snuffed out match / of a little city. To the dust that separates // stained lace. To the poor / thrum of humidity.’

‘On the radio they are playing a record that is skipping. A deep-voiced woman joyfully sings, “My life has just begun– gun– gun–”’

Fiction

‘He lingered on the edges of my social field of view, here in the basement lab where it was hot and loud’

Poetry

‘And they were a solemn people: naming / the world, mapping it out, arguing about what it meant. Clandestine as / husbands’

Poetry

“ALL WILL COME BACK FROM ROOTS – NOTHING KILLS BLACKBERRY – BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE SPARROWS”

Poetry

‘The first boy that I dated weighted down his coif / with so much hair gel that the crest atop his pate / was hard as horses’ teeth’

Fiction

‘We pulled together as much of our body parts as we could. We collected everything we lost in sleep, everything we gained, as a three hour-long silence spread over Kathmandu.’

A day without a hate crime, Asian-American activism in 1970s Los Angeles, worlds made possible by the NEA

Fiction

‘He lingered on the edges of my social field of view, here in the basement lab where it was hot and loud’

Essays

Sustainable eating can often feel like the privilege of a well-heeled elite, but how do the appetites and labor of New York City’s immigrant communities fit into the picture?

Poetry

‘And they were a solemn people: naming / the world, mapping it out, arguing about what it meant. Clandestine as / husbands’

Fiction

‘I wonder what happens to skin when it is robbed of touch. Does it break? Does it know to breathe? Does it forget the painful sweetness of a tickle?’

Poetry

“ALL WILL COME BACK FROM ROOTS – NOTHING KILLS BLACKBERRY – BUT WHERE ARE ALL THE SPARROWS”

Poetry

‘They love long hours of blackout. / They love this snuffed out match / of a little city. To the dust that separates // stained lace. To the poor / thrum of humidity.’

Poetry

‘The first boy that I dated weighted down his coif / with so much hair gel that the crest atop his pate / was hard as horses’ teeth’

‘On the radio they are playing a record that is skipping. A deep-voiced woman joyfully sings, “My life has just begun– gun– gun–”’

Fiction

‘We pulled together as much of our body parts as we could. We collected everything we lost in sleep, everything we gained, as a three hour-long silence spread over Kathmandu.’