Artwork by Jay Mitra Only when you’re drunk do you talk about your grandmother. We drink a lot, sharing pints and pizza while the telly blares in the background, cocktails on the terrace before fucking under the clouds. I miss her, you would slur, and your eyes brighten, yet you seem older. You never say…
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**CW: this piece contains racial slurs** In the fascinating way that the literary world conducts its business nowadays, I have never spent a moment in person or even on the phone with Chris Stuck. Our mutual friend—and a previous interview subject, Chris L. Terry—got us connected, and our mutual admiration society was born. Two things…
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High heels push you closer to God. Specifically, the white patent leather pumps embellished with rhinestones that danced in choir stands and freed themselves on the word of your testimony. You have only worn them four and a half times because the last angel who got that close started a coup d’etat above the earth. …
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Jennifer is Vietnamese, a determined fan of Korean food and culture, and befriended me when she thought I was more Korean than I am. She suggested a day trip on a Monday to eat Korean BBQ without knowing that it had been at least five years since I had eaten at a Korean restaurant. I…
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Photo by Rashad Harris @sleepyoptics The wasps on Yale’s campus were just like the people: invasive, mildly annoying, and a problem that could easily be avoided by staying inside my dorm all day. But our first day of exploration called for the opposite of confinement in my empty, eggshell-colored prison that I had grown to…
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Puffing out his chest with pride my older cousin meticulously ties the corners of the flag around his neck. “Boricua man!” he shouts to the crammed subway passengers, his breath cloaked with the bitter smell of Bacardi. “Yo soy Boricua man!” he bellows triumphantly, throwing his arms over his head and pretending to fly around…
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Artwork: “Found My Wings” by @synth3ticc When I was younger, there were times when I wished that I could cut myself into two perfect halves: one Arab and one Asian. The Arab one would look like my father with curly Afro hair that smelled of saltwater and a big nose that would guide me home.…
Read MoreIt was the summer of 1993 and Keilani and I sat by the crackling fire as the bullfrogs croaked a sonorous symphony, the grass swayed from a whispering breeze, and the stars zipped in different directions across the vast night sky. “What a weekend,” Keilani said, resting her hands on the back of her jet-black…
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As a child, I was something of a voyeur. It’s natural, of course, for children to both see and consume the world while also trying to understand it, often while fading into the background–the proverbial “be seen and not heard.” Adults often make the mistake of carrying on with their lives as though children are…
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Illustration by Divyakshi Kedia There was no one at the drive-through window, so they sat simply and looked at each other. The fluorescent lights from inside cast a bright yellow triangle through the glass, past Darren’s own window, into the car, and spilled all over his lap. She watched the light carefully until a shrouded figure…
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