In the old Korea image, the heart appeared raised, not engraved. Plump, like a real heart.

Ruminations on David Foster Wallace’s letters to Richard Elman
Every love story is a ghost story in the sense that the beloved often lingers, haunts, and possesses...

Chimera
My son is a year-old as I write this, and he’s slept through the night twice. Both times...

Race and Appeasement
I dropped my ponytail and gave her my full attention as she breathed out, “He’s the leader of...

My Brother’s Peace Keeper
My brother has never been my enemy. But I worry about what he could be driven to do...

North
Soon after re-entering their natal streams, the salmon’s kidneys fail. Having come to maturity in the ocean, they...

Words Apart
There was an undeniable charm to the unlikely nature of our bond, a lighthearted Frenchman and an aging...

I Want My Mom
I want my mom. I do. I may be thirty-five years old—too old for wanting mothers—but I’m also...

The Body, Rebellion
She looks away in horror and I re-sheet myself. I don’t blame her. I’m disgusted too.

Funeral Playlist
Despite our shared grief, the conversation was stunted at first—we were still adults—known enemies to teenagers all over.

Spoons
When she was dying, it was easy to see her spoons dripping off her remote controlled hospital bed.

Re-membering: a Topography of Tom
The law of falling bodies states that if I had somehow touched Tom’s body as it fell through...