Ling Ma

The mind becomes a field of snow but then the snow melts and dandelions blink on and you can walk through them, your trousers plastered with dew. They’re all waiting for you but first here’s a booth where you can win a peacock feather for bursting a balloon, a man in huge stripes shouting about a boy who is half swan, the biggest pig in the world. Then you will pass tractors pulling other tractors, trees snagged with bright wrappers and then you will come to a river and then you will wash your face.

September 13, 2022. Preorder at Bookshop, if you want :)

Short story in the New Yorker fiction story. Hope you can get past the paywall!

Short story in the VQR summer issue. Enjoy! :)

New short story in The Atlantic, published in May. Been a bit behind on posting things, but better late than never! :)

I first saw Kathe Burkhart's work at a PS1 exhibit in the mid aughts. There was a little poem on the wall, spelled out in chocolate letters: "Please tell me / how much longer / this pleasure / will last before / it turns to shit."

Just remembering this gem from my high school CD collection. Good for driving around Kansas in the winter.

Ten essays and a conversation about Severance 🌸Edited by Jane Hu and Anjuli Raza Kolb

Thanks to Sara Ortiz and Stephanie Gibson for organizing Severance Radio, and to the speakers for the insightful discussions. :)

Extreme content warning: Extremely sad!!

When you find yourself inside a lot, and just want something beautiful and springlike to listen to.

You want to know how I spend my time? I walk the front lawn, pretending to be weeding. You ought to know I'm never weeding, on my knees, pulling clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact I'm looking for courage, for some evidence my life will change, though it takes forever, checking each clump for the symbolic leaf, and soon the summer is ending, already the leaves turning, always the sick trees going first, the dying turning brilliant yellow, while a few dark birds perform their curfew of music. You want to see my hands? As empty now as at the first note. Or was the point always to continue without a sign?