Three Poems by Allan Popa

By Allan Popa / Translation by Bernard Capinpin

There will be days when you’ll shed tears / over breakfast, dipping / the bread into coffee / like when you were a child / because who could’ve imagined / it possible still.

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How We Will Remember

By Ploi Pirapokin

What happens after a fire? Who dusts, sweeps, and tosses the remains out into open fields, to sow, replant, and tend to new growth? Do you need to know how a burn feels to recognize what it is like to be soothed?

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November 2020

By Tammy Lai-Ming Ho

My mother’s eyes are dry but tears / sometimes find their way there. / The woman selling dead seafood keeps / wetting the lobsters with ice water / near the shore where tourists cheer and wave.

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Lunch Special

By Mimi Wong

On screen, a woman dressed as a nurse hooked up a heart monitor to a man wearing only swim trunks. Meanwhile, another woman, this one in a string bikini, performed a lap dance. A male host announced that the man’s heart rate had jumped from 96 to 120.

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Somewhere Out There

By Brady Ng

I am not alone when I say that, for years, an ambient presence has been percolating, waiting to be named, impossible to ignore if you care about the place you call home and the strangers who share it with you.

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