Articles

The Grim Reaper holds a potluck on the second Saturday of every month, and I received my first invitation last week. Via email. We’ve only met twice. Once, a year ago, when my brother died of head trauma after a motorcycle accident. Grim waited in the corner of the hospital room like a hooded shadow, …

from the Jeopardy! category “Acronyms & Mnemonics:” You never really understood your generation’s obsession with space: not Star Wars, not Star Trek (the two of which you always confused), & certainly not actual space. Why would anyone want to go there—where the tethers were givens, more literal & restrictive than any tethers that bound you …

After my husband’s death, grief blinded me, perhaps, mercifully, so that I could not see how it would strip from me even the simplest of pleasures. In the spring, when once I had wandered the forest still wet with rain, and greedily plucked wild chanterelles, I found myself walking past them, leaving them to the …

Add water from the tap — one cup — Who knows what recipes You’ve found, Chilling the water or heating it up. Wen shui is fine, just right. Add it to the flour, stir to make dough. You’ll need more strength than that to knead a dumpling pi that holds up to steam and soup …

We are baking a cake and nothing is wrong I do not have a pit in my stomach Lina comes in licks chocolate icing off the side of your hand I am unfazed in fact, the evening is still entirely ours you’re wearing your dead mother’s checkered apron, and we talk until our words drift …

ugly as the day I was born I carry my girlhood like an apology scraping dead selves off the soles of my feet onto the pavement onto the organic produce at Whole Foods onto my lover’s best pillowcases a sorry sight elsewhere a perfect specimen soft spoken unstained underwear graceful even in death my god …

Where is home? At the corner of Union St. and Clinton Ave., where a cream colonial house sits on an acre of lush grass. Where, amidst aged black oaks and red maples, a nascent Japanese cherry tree buds along the yard’s back edge. Planted by my father in honor of my birth, our timelines expand …

H E ain’t coming back tonight. Next night neither. You hear your marrow cresting its cricks & miss what you never thought you’d miss: him snoring through midnight, uvula clocking its knocker on his throat’s narrow door. The hogs housed in his hothouse mouth—whose truffle they rootin’ now? You collage women in your sleep: knees …

“Void,” neon, wood, paint, 10’x7’x3’, 2022. Photo credit: Mollie McKinley Void distorts a viewer’s perception of space by creating the illusion that the hole in the wall is a 2D object.  Neon light is cast onto a concave form inside the void, creating a smooth, unchanging surface where our eyes cannot see depth, creating the …

Last year Timothy and I went to Art Basel Miami. I insisted, actually, Timothy knowing less than nothing about art and my obsession with painting. In the hotness of Florida, the sun melted my makeup, leaving striped marks down my cheeks, and caused Timothy’s bald head to glisten like a marble dropped in oil. We …