By Lisa Chen / Flash /      There is the apartment that we leave to move two doors down, because that apartment was apartment #4 and Ma believes it to be haunted .  In Mandarin four  sounds the same as the word for death , but no one dies, though I think she may like to try. I want to say, this is America Ma, no one is haunted by numbers, but even then, I know it not to be true. There is the apartment where I stop the line of ants with my wet thumb, not necessarily to smash

By Melissa Ferrer Civil / Nonfiction / “We talk about the black problem. It might be interesting to see what would happen to the page if one decided to discuss the white problem.“ – James Baldwin in conversation with John Callaway on “Chicago Tonight,” 1985 Dear Whiteness , This morning I was dancing with my white roommate in the kitchen. He was showing me one of his favorite songs. In it, the white men are screaming that the revolution has died. And I said somethin

By Amber Wong / Nonfiction /         The April air’s crisp as a Granny Smith, the water smooth as velvet. Shades of coral edge over the eastern horizon, the promise of a sunny spring day. At the top of the University of Washington crew racecourse on the edge of Lake Washington, my eyes sweep the skyline, north to south, hoping for a sweet reward. And there it is. Today, beyond the dark evergreen nests of firs, the blue-gray jags of the distant Cascade Mountains end with an e

By Shella Parcarey / Nonfiction /         One day after my tenth birthday, I stuffed a suitcase with nearly all my clothes. Underneath...

By Kathy Jiang / Poetry /         光輝歲月 after Beyond The morning Wong Kai Kui died,  my father read the newspaper, phoned my mother from...

By Amna Tariq Shah-Kemp / Nonfiction /         It began with a cough. My husband, Dylan, an Australian, whose heart belonged as much to...

By Patricia Gray / Poetry /   In Ethiopia we have seen many eclipses.  We just heat glass until it is smoked and look through it at...

By Xi Chen / Poetry /   There is nothing about John Ashbery’s racist poem sadder than the poem trying to cancel it by the student who...

By Tighe Flatley / Nonfiction /   Close your eyes. Think of a Victoria’s Secret store: the hip-hop–infused pop music squeezing...

By Kosisochukwu W. Ugwuede / Third Place, 2024 Plentitudes Prize in Nonfiction / We are speeding toward Victoria Island—CJ, my driver and...

By Daniela Paraguya Sow / Poetry / Romela roams through Cebu City Library, sifting through shelves for me. Romela returns with the faded...

By Jeddie Sophronius / Poetry / My mother delivered me to this land, her ancestral tears washed me clean after my first cry. I am the son...

By Caio Major / Nonfiction / Riding in the passenger seat of my first boyfriend’s truck, either shortly before or shortly after we made...

By River 瑩瑩 Dandelion / Third Place, 2023 Plentitudes Prize in Poetry / 8:44PM, Meijia Wu the last tour bus pulls away grandmothers...

By J.M. Amoroso / Fiction / I lose my soul in the mirror every day. I give it a year, maybe two if I’m lucky, before I face the dreaded...

By Finley Williams / Nonfiction / I. Granny never talked about her late husband, my maternal grandfather. I know him mostly through a...

By Emily Ahmed / Poetry / Your daddy’s going to hell for not fasting, she hisses, the inference is, so am I. I, in conversation with my...

By S. P. Venkat / Fiction / On the day of my wedding, I realized I didn't recognize my husband-to-be. He looked like a lazily picked...

By Joon Ae Haworth-Kaufka / Fiction / You are on the couch sketching the Christmas tree when you hear the growl of your brother’s Ford...

By Dominic Belmonte / Nonfiction / 1. 1967: “Daddy?” I am thirteen years old, playing Pinners with my best friend Jose Martinez....

By Kwan Siu Kan Gabriel / Fiction / From her upstairs bedroom, Anastasia cries. It is 9 pm, well into the quiet hours. Her cries echo...