on idyllic Bali in 21stcentury with Frank who keeps talking about Charlie, as we relax in sun-glasses and tee-shirts during our drive across the island, our road traversing numerous picturesque terraced rice paddies, with Frank who periodically rolls down a window of the mini-van to shout “bring ‘em home!” at the oblivious farmers peacefully tending their crops, many of whom are indeed wearing woven grass sun-hats for the heat
Cralan Kelder is the author of Give Some Word
SARVIN PARVIZ
We were celebrating a friend’s birthday in our group chat, signing his birthday card, together apart, when Israel launched the strikes. Now we are on the call, and someone says she was making Adaspolo, preparing the lentils when she heard the strike. She could stop, she thought to herself, that she should.
EVELYN MAGUIRE
I become a house lived-in. Living in my mother’s house, again, it’s easy to drift into the past. Blue bottle light, dust motes, a silver rattle. The sound of it: butterfly wings. I am tender towards everything. Everything is a child and I am everything’s mother.
ALAA ALQAISI
We stepped out with our eyes uncovered. / Gaza kept looking through them— / green tanks asleep on roofs, a stubborn gull, / water heavy with scales at dawn. // Nothing in us chose the hinges to slacken. / The latch turned without our hands. / Papers practiced the border’s breath.
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