On:

The only reason Ming had traveled across the whole Pacific Ocean from Vancouver to Lotus Village was, hopefully, to see Chiung for the first and last time after he left his native place more than half a century ago.However, upon arrival, he found himself a total stranger. While no villagerContinue Reading

On:

I am tying myself into knots. I undo them and redo them. I am myself knots. I undo and redo. I am knots. I undo them. I knot myself. Undo and redo. I am tying knots into myself. I redo and undo and undo and redo. I am myself, tyingContinue Reading

On:

“What’s your earliest memory?” asked Ming.“Why are you asking me this?” Hua said.“Because it marks the beginning of your life as a human.”“You’re saying my pre-memory life is not a human one at all?”“Not in the sense that you’re a self-conscious individual.”“Well, you may have a point there…. As farContinue Reading

On:

i found a discarded memoryin the bluenessof my mindit was covered withan outgrowth of achild that livedin a treehousecovered with a protrusion of greenit was in the wee hoursof that foggy morningwhen small birdscreated new songsfrom old imagessketched from the projectionof knotted twine from their nestpainted withemotional whispersthat was anContinue Reading

On:

not that one takes a bowafter every two lines this body mostly waternow spoke of in halves or raise one finger after fourgive ourselves an extra hand after six but one might celebrate quietly after eightthis body mostly air now imperfectly squared I’ve worked at Water Street Books in ExeterContinue Reading

On:

The raucous sea, far belowan outgrowth of colorful flowerswafting fragrances into the air,its undulant swelling movementcarries the tide surging toward shore,its waves heaved high into the air,with splashes of briny teal,topped with white whiskers,like an old man with his restlessness. James is a retired professor and octogenarian. He is aContinue Reading

On:

not that I clove to youlike a ghostly sheet, love rolled my tongue into an Oor another self, taut as a clothesline, some caricature bent to my likenessor some trucker’s star hitched half to the wind, half to the littlepill slipped under their tongues I’ve worked at Water Street BooksContinue Reading

On:

(after Henry Darger’s collection, as told by Olivia Laing) amazing howbits of stringconnect the daysdarn up the weak spotsentertain the eyeflower in a dark roomgutter rescuedhandled carefullyimagine being threaded through a cityjust as you were falling apartknots to puzzle over at nightlines crossing lines, patterningmyriad layers appearing asnesting material forContinue Reading

On:

not that there’s a reef or fish leftthat figured in the last of our dreams, ate whichever lore the fishermanpitched from the clouds too over our heads & we could count on like gold sheep to sink uswithin an inch of that coldest & deepest of sleeps where even theContinue Reading

On:

I would sit in the blazing Alabama heat with my cousins. Picking nectarines from my great aunt’s tree. I must have swallowed a pit,Since I’ve had a knot in my stomach since I was 10. Or maybe the pit wasn’t the first knot. Maybe the fermented juice running down myContinue Reading