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Life Choicesexpand_moreThat late afternoon in the park, with its kiss, wasn’t an ending or a beginning; it was both. The piano had been a great bird rustling and swooping in the vast space.
A plus B; a child in peril, plus love, dissolution of, equals a story.
“You look like you’re about to fall over,” he says. “Are you all right?”
I build our life together as I want it to be.
Let’s rummage through each other’s bodies like a blowout sale.
Robert Hedin
I am veins and breath, the entrance the world passes through.
Regarding the affairs of our Father, your demon is Ennui.
He was just a bully, uncivilized, out of control, and wanting to lash out.
He was just a bully, uncivilized, out of control, and wanting to lash out.
“What’s the shittiest thing you’ve ever done to someone?” she said.
Her biggest secret was Jay Currie—her white American boyfriend.
You don’t know what it’s like to be so hungry that you’d steal to eat.
Here, Min Jin reads from her novel at Narrative Night, New York City.
“If you love freedom so much, you shouldn’t think about going back.”
My father would have ended my clandestine career on the spot.
Let’s put a frog in his bed and have him feel it jump all over him.
Youth! Goodness! Joy! Hope! Strange things to bring to a place like this.
The old hen scratches then looks, scratches then looks. My life.
I bled. God didn’t want to hear about it. He said unclean and so it was.
The keys look like Tommy’s teeth once he began to appreciate meth.
Out there, my father captains a boat tour below the Cliffs of Moher
This was his sky, his clouds rucked up over the fields. His country.
“You’re going somewhere now,” he said. “Up to the big smoke.”
Why is the sun such a bad companion to the desert traveler?
Don’t try to find me by spit, by genetic sleuthing, by Are you my?
It was only a matter of time before the damp of loss grew within us like moss.
Why am I always asleep in your poems? Look at me Ben, when am I.
What consequence is a body/a body nonetheless. If the light in me is gone.
One spent the better part of this life writing in the dirt with a stick.
