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By Orion I navigate a legion
of girls in Halloween angel wings,
waves of taffeta, and tulle.
My answer to what do you want
is lifted like a siege of herons,
floats like fox-fire away.
There must be another ship,
lanterns snuffed, ahead of me,
plundering a peaceful fleet.
What else could that knocking be
if not the roll of wooden mermaids,
severed by bronze, stowed in her hull?
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Our well-being depends on a better understanding of how the logic of labor has twisted our relationship with pleasure.
“I was my father’s son. My father was Nai Nai’s least favorite.” A Taiwanese American man, driven from home by a secret, reevaluates his childhood memories of his grandmother.
MacArthur Genius Kelly Lytle Hernández makes the case for why U.S. history only makes sense when told as a binational story.