Adjacent to the Theatre District and bordering Downtown Crossing, the Massachusetts Turnpike, and the South End was Chinatown. The Washington Street traffic was a cacophony of blaring horns, the friction …
Category:
Fiction
after Jennifer S. Cheng Dear Mom, ………I want to describe for you the snow. How white smooths the mountains into cones. How, in the evening light, the cones become islands, …
The man at the memorial hall had a kind smile. He swiveled in his chair behind the front desk as she came in, and looked at her over his reading …
Mr. Shimizu places a hand on my chest. Twenty-two seconds. I count. I take it all in. The burning circle of his palm. The cool ridge of his wedding band. …
The brass bell rang a welcome as I opened the door and the strong Arabica coffee aroma swept over me. A Horace Silver jazz piano solo was picking up …
On my sixth birthday, Ma and I sat across from each other in the kitchen, waiting for Ba. Late again. Ma drummed her fingers with fury on our wobbly folding …
It was a sunny, September morning, and I was making my usual journey to work from Vancouver into Richmond. The perilous Knight Street bridge was bustling as usual, and the …
“Dinner together?” the older version of me proposes, her red lips open and close, saying it clear and sound. “Our birthday, my treat.” She takes out the lipstick and adds …
The first television my parents bought was a big box with four elegantly tapered legs. For many years we didn’t have cable, but by turning a stiff knob on the …
My left earlobe throbs with a familiar pain. A few weeks ago, I removed the infected earring to give the wound some air. After a careful sterilization, I ask my …
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