Category Archives: photography

Immigration Laws

We are immigrants in our own skin, flash-fire refugees who get by with falsified papers, fake IDs, and forged signatures. If caught and found guilty of a trespass or transgression, we pardon ourselves in our native tongues, language a placeholder … Continue reading

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Claim for the Meek

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading

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Anya and the Dark

Remember when we were kids and we’d sometimes have sleepovers and listen to the dark together? That’s what you called it, Anya, listening to the dark. Sometimes we’d pretend to be camping. We’d set up a tent and eat candy … Continue reading

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Raspberries

  Mariko knew a lot of interesting things about space. For example: astronomers theorized that, based on its chemical make-up, the dust from the nebula that gave birth to our sun would taste like raspberries. And that the closer you … Continue reading

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Devotional

Remember me to the ease of light, its pause and passage, we are not long for this earth, which swallows us, and our lovetagged bones, as a matter of natural course and radical recomposition, all the gifts, and hopes unwound … Continue reading

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As You Desire

Free from staid context, and the fragile lull of fate, she had come a long unmapped way to create a new set of illusions by which to set and frame her course.   (Photo by Cindy Sherman)

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Gone Again

Under a sunstreaked tree, rough bark against skin, texture of a stolen kiss— She was touched, and saddened too, that these days it was her ghost who did most of her living for her, amidst the brackish ebb and flow … Continue reading

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The Mission

There were places she hadn’t been, wilds within that had escaped her gravely silent stalking. A fuse had been lit. Concentration was required. And stillness. The kind of stillness that would bring her face to face with the deeply unremembered … Continue reading

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Neo-Realism

There was something about a white telephone, unringing, that made her think of tightly wound spirals of cigarette-smoke in Italian films, or poorly lit hotel rooms where actresses played to the pall of their silence and wanting. Any moment now, … Continue reading

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Want Ad

After one year, one month, and two days, what she called her unsentimental education, she understood the city to be both a cryptic boneyard and high-rise projection which excluded her from any real contact. God, how she loved holding it … Continue reading

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