by Ladan Osman That Which Scatters and Breaks Apart Everywhere they turn, the walls ask, why, why not. From every space someone calls a question and there echoes so many answers, it’s impossible to hear. Save me, he calls. Open me, she calls. Divorce me. Their despair is a bird in an abandoned nest, its brother has jumped out and died, its sister is dying beside it and still it perches: Do I fly? Can I fly? You’re here because you said, I hate you instead of, I’m sorry. You’re here because you couldn’t forgive but kept on making stews and hand-washing his good socks, blowing curses into hot water. “Knives All Over”, 2013 by Alison Kuo. Digital Photograph Trouble I have a chill in my womb. I have a child in my wound. Everything is massed up. The sea doesn’t blow. The wind rivers the sea in the wrong direction. How will I get along with this man wolfing me? How will I get alone? He herd me. It never bordered me before, what I got as a regard. We used the hardest language. We cast threats. We’ll born in hell. Some of us fall by the waistside and... Read More

By Victoria Matsui the person who threads my eyebrows tells me “my husband loves long hair, so i cut mine short.” we can’t stop laughing, she’s already bent over, i’m already lying down: two asian american women. for years, she has taken care of me, her labor physical and emotional. capitalism tries to dictate the terms of our relationship; we obey and struggle to be ourselves within it. i close my eyes, she looks close, she chooses which hairs to pluck. she shapes my expressions. we ask questions, we listen, we slowly reveal ourselves; the space between her face and mine is for trust. before i can romanticize it all, capitalism reminds me to show my gratitude with a big, crass tip. then we hug goodbye. “love and exploitation are not mutually exclusive” and strategies of resistance are everywhere.     “Thread”, 2014 by Jess X. Chen. Goauche on Paper, 8” x 10”