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I.Ten years ago, she—a woman I only vaguely remember—laid herself inside a chamber that promised an escape from her senses.The chamber might have looked like a colossal goose egg, but I could be remembering a fiction.She had hoped it might resemble the steampunk tank in Altered States, or the cyberpunk telepod in The Fly. It might actually have looked more like a tanning bed,
To Jeremiah’s eyes, the word sat fat on the page like a bull amongst calves. But to Ms. Jones’s—blue and swift and confidently as they moved—it lay in wait like some snake in the grass. Jeremiah didn’t want to see her get bit. She was a nice teacher, a young one too, and as it was with all nice, young white people he met, Jeremiah liked to imagine that Ms.
For Sarah Ghazal Ali Days unclear, filled with sun. The flicker of another life coming for me. Rushingmakes an imprint—bruised knees. Time purpling the rhododendron. Near summer, when childhood’s shadow is near, you say you feel God's hand. Where on your back, exactly?
Starlight and empty sidewalks, closed storefronts and cicadas, when did I first define solitude as standing adjacent to objects without touching? The streetlamps sputter Luna moths akimbo, a frantic arousal, their rinse of wings.
I thought my body a thick hearty thing, a big- horn sheep perched in a crag of rock, an elk fording a snowmelt river, a fat rattlesnake sunning on a dusty boulder. Today, you are no days older than you will ever be,