No ESmoking
My tías, a heavy, wet cloud around her, sobbing but holding abuela up. The dust of the road to the cemetery kicks up around their ankles. The wooden houses bow behind them, with respect. That’s what I would see, if I were there.
China Patterns
In London, your new apartment has one room, two toasters, and no locks on the doors. Your children’s three little heads knock against one another in a twin bed as they sleep. A tall man with rosacea spits on you at the bus stop. Another grabs his crotch and calls you señorita.
Poetry by Jenny Ahn
My Mother as a Schoolgirl, South Jeolla Province, 1970
Poetry by Sarah Lubala
A List Of Things I Do Not Tell My Mother
Poetry by Phuong Thao Vuong
HOME-COOKING
Nonfiction by Mina Hamedi
Experiments