The kumquat’s sweetness was a disguise, and once it was disrobed in your mouth, the meat inside was sour enough to make your mouth buck, to wring your tongue of its language.

By K-Ming Chang
Essays    Reportage    Marginalia    Interviews    Poetry    Fiction    Videos    Everything   
Poetry

I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.

Poetry

when i was six, / i scooped prayer into my palms, sipped / jesus’ sweat out of a soju bottle ten / years after. the prayer screamed / under my skin

Poetry

Don’t you know my face? Didn’t you / break it open? Being beautiful, it’s no crime.

Poetry

Unearth the map of storied constellations. / Vibe the unknown. Wager that fear is not our common dialect.

Poetry

치마를 까뒤집던 꽃들이 / 태양의 먼 어깨 위로 투신한다 / 나무들이 입던 속옷을 벗어 깃발처럼 흔드는 정원에서

Poetry

I dress devotedly. I devote my time to smoothing the knots in my hair. / I lace rum and cokes with devotion. My aloe vera plant sings devotion.

Poetry

總有一次不想丟掉 / 太容易丟掉 || Don’t want to lose it this time / It’s too easy to lose

Poetry

I loved them all and everything / they thought about so much and I was out / of my mind by then, not with grief or disgust / but with beauty

Essays

A snapshot of ISSUE Project Room’s creative collaboration between Jasmine Gibson, Fana Fraser, Sokunthary Svay, and Annie Heath

Poetry

we dog eating people / eating off each other / bear the vaguely dog / sounding name stairs

Poetry

In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”

Poetry

the manner / in which the oaks nod to me it’s funny / I swear there are no magnets / lining my boots / maybe just a few nickels

Poetry

America swallowed my parents / spit out skeletons / Waleed became Bill / the Clintons stretched / their skinny vowels / over my father’s father’s father’s name

Poetry

my eyes are closed / & i won’t lose my temper, want a world where my people aren’t background, refuse / to be an extra in someone else’s weekend again.

Poetry

do you know somewhere inside their language, lies something mine?

Poetry

if I extradited myself from my body cleaved into infinite / particles you’d never step all over me at once

Poetry

& if / you find yourself full of holes, the / way they beat fish at the markets, / think of the hands, damp & cherried / with rain, that once tore your mother / out of the house / she learned to dance in.

Poetry

I am thinking / Of a burnt cathedral, which / Has nothing to do with actual death.

Poetry

her story—a bone-white line across her throat. / Given enough time, she says, are all stories / not ghost stories?

Poetry

Is not house, not kitchen, not ceiling. Spanish chandeliers as old and intricate as iron.

Poetry

I reenter my body as a highway, then a Monday, then a demo / of a pop song that never made it to the surface.

Poetry

In a guest laden living room to the side in a corner, / I tried to wear a coat like skin, // And in that moment, that precise moment, / I’m asked, “Are you Tibetan?”

Poetry

when i was six, / i scooped prayer into my palms, sipped / jesus’ sweat out of a soju bottle ten / years after. the prayer screamed / under my skin

Poetry

the manner / in which the oaks nod to me it’s funny / I swear there are no magnets / lining my boots / maybe just a few nickels

Poetry

Don’t you know my face? Didn’t you / break it open? Being beautiful, it’s no crime.

Poetry

America swallowed my parents / spit out skeletons / Waleed became Bill / the Clintons stretched / their skinny vowels / over my father’s father’s father’s name

Poetry

Unearth the map of storied constellations. / Vibe the unknown. Wager that fear is not our common dialect.

Poetry

my eyes are closed / & i won’t lose my temper, want a world where my people aren’t background, refuse / to be an extra in someone else’s weekend again.

Poetry

치마를 까뒤집던 꽃들이 / 태양의 먼 어깨 위로 투신한다 / 나무들이 입던 속옷을 벗어 깃발처럼 흔드는 정원에서

Poetry

do you know somewhere inside their language, lies something mine?

Poetry

I dress devotedly. I devote my time to smoothing the knots in my hair. / I lace rum and cokes with devotion. My aloe vera plant sings devotion.

Poetry

if I extradited myself from my body cleaved into infinite / particles you’d never step all over me at once

Poetry

總有一次不想丟掉 / 太容易丟掉 || Don’t want to lose it this time / It’s too easy to lose

Poetry

& if / you find yourself full of holes, the / way they beat fish at the markets, / think of the hands, damp & cherried / with rain, that once tore your mother / out of the house / she learned to dance in.

Poetry

I loved them all and everything / they thought about so much and I was out / of my mind by then, not with grief or disgust / but with beauty

Poetry

I am thinking / Of a burnt cathedral, which / Has nothing to do with actual death.

Essays

A snapshot of ISSUE Project Room’s creative collaboration between Jasmine Gibson, Fana Fraser, Sokunthary Svay, and Annie Heath

Poetry

her story—a bone-white line across her throat. / Given enough time, she says, are all stories / not ghost stories?

Poetry

we dog eating people / eating off each other / bear the vaguely dog / sounding name stairs

Poetry

Is not house, not kitchen, not ceiling. Spanish chandeliers as old and intricate as iron.