by Junpei Tarashi | Jan 2, 2023 | 2022 September
Leaning against the cold porcelain sink, attempting to open the gates to a new day, I stare into the mirrored face, eyes still lifeless, skin colorless and hair matted on the side that met the pillow, just like my father’s hair when he’d fallen hard asleep on the...
by Junpei Tarashi | Jan 2, 2023 | 2022 September
Tommy says that his umbilical cord shriveled up and fell off before he was even born; that he came out of the womb with it tied into a sailors’ knot around his pinky. We were all so impressed. How had he lost it that early? I’m not that gullible anymore. My mom used...
by Surosree Chaudhuri | Dec 3, 2022 | 2022 September, Poetry
Kilometros de campos, miles of corn growing more green, creciendo más verdes. Land—not clay, sandy—arcilla, arenosa. Cada granja, each farm, no bridge a la otra. Los silos, molinos de viento— Silos, windmills, el maíz, cielo. Cuando el cielo está más despejado se cae...
by Surosree Chaudhuri | Dec 3, 2022 | 2022 September, Poetry
Brushed from evening’s attic, A profusion of powdered hues – Rain-softened green, citron Yellow and a dusky-gray bleeding To blue – fluttering like clouds Of dust illuminated by the throw Of light, eager to expose their wings And tiny contusions of body to the Black...
by Junpei Tarashi | Sep 7, 2022 | 2022 September, Flash Fiction
To become an altar boy he had to satisfy a list of tasks and conditions; it was like earning a merit badge. Gary wished it was more like Boy Scouts, with ranks laid out within the altar boy organization that he could steadily ascend until he reached the summit and...
