Month: February 2016

An Inheritance: words and pictures

Images courtesy of Ashley Jimenez Six Things You Will Learn About Being American-Born Chinese by Rona Wang When you are seven and the kids at school pull up the outer corners of their eyes, call you chink or gook, you will not get it. You will not understand why they sneer at your lunches and your clothes and your punctured speech. At eight your favorite after-school television cartoon will feature a Mandarin-speaking character but the voice-actor only speaks gibberish, with the subtitle “Speaking Chinese” in bold underneath, as if that’s good enough to fool you. You learn this is how your language is perceived: a string of nonsense. You are nine and your mother still stumbles over vowels, cannot spit out her words without dipping them first in foreign tones, and you are embarrassed. Don’t be. Be proud of the courage it took for her to cross an ocean into a foreign land which told her she didn’t belong, which told her to go home. Be proud of the tenacity it took to survive the winters of …


  RAIN by Alice Xu The sun burns cold in October & the cloth curved between my thighs catches rain. Beneath my palm: Rosalie’s cross. Bible once beneath. My body, spread out on sapped autumn oak. The cusp of middle-aged rust, rusting like last year’s sycamore leaves. I dream of Louis rubbing his neck & churchyards emptying their stomachs as the sun waits for a funeral.     ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Alice Xu is a high school senior who adores Jane Austen and her novels. She currently serves as a Co-Editor in Chief for her high school’s literary magazine, a Genre Editor for Polyphony H.S., and an Editorial Intern for The Blueshift Journal. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Textploit, Phosphene Literary Journal, The Riveter Review, and elsewhere. Photographs by Hana Tyszka Illustration by Eric Anaya

Little kisses from his oris

Poetry and prose by Macy Punzalan. Photography by Mira Pusateri. The Anatomy of Him My head rests on his thorax as his lungs breathe slowly in and out little kisses from his oris dot my buccal & his mentis finds rest on the tippy top of my parietal I took his hand to mold with mine Asking for his digits our phalanges soon interlocked And were perfectly intertwined my otic heard the sweet hymns from his larynx and a dizzy spell cast over me my heart was stirred & his heart did hold like his own hands did. I could feel it pulse (lub dub, lub dub) Safely caged beneath his 5th intercostal space Beneath his mid-clavicular line I looked to him. his zygomatic bones a blessing to behold but what I loved most Blue irises aside were the 26 muscles which transformed his face So I thanked the good Lord & the stars above for the anatomy of him. THE WAREHOUSE Momma whispered to me as the violins began to sing. She wanted a …