Prose
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“By Bread Alone” by Danny Bellinger (wil’um)
When I was a young boy I learned that you could shoot a man for disrespecting your sister, even if he was her husband and your brother in law. All you had to do was trick your kids into believing the weapon was a cap gun by putting caps in the hammer, before you fired into the night air at the man who’d limp for the rest of his life for reasons unbeknown to me. That’s what my father did. My brother tells me years later that the fake cap gun is the reason why my uncle limps like he does.
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“Regnum” A short story by Bronka Nowicka (translated from the Polish by Katarzyna Szuster) Artwork by Lula Bajek
Regnum
Mad Mary, Ursula, insane Nina, haunted Agnes, guide me. Let me stick my hands in the pockets of your housecoats, where the keys are nestled in the bundles of your handkerchiefs. Let me steal them and set the door to the kingdom ajar.
At night Nina kneads bread and weeps into it. In the kitchen, the milk gives off light until she pours it into dun flour and then it goes out. The woman kneads the dough in the dark. The table squeaks,
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“Showers in Barrio Bagol” by Elizabeth Joy Serrano-Quijano (translated from the Cebuano by John Bengan) Artwork by Kenneth Paul Senarillos
Showers in Barrio Bagol
Here in Lumbang, the rice fields are as wide as the sky. We measure time with the sun. The rising of the sun signals the tilling of soil, our daily labor. The sunset signals the time to rest our bodies.
Since I became aware of my surroundings, this has been our life: no labor, no food. There have been nights when we had nothing to eat especially when nobody would hire us to work. My children are used to our situation. We may be poor, but I work hard so my children could go to school,
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“All About Youth” by Fumiki Takahashi (translated from the Japanese by Toshiya Kamei)
All About Youth
Takehiko Nomi was behind the wheel of the Audi iX, and we drove up a lush green mountain road. The sunbeams shimmered through the trees and poured over the shiny red hood.
Letting the autopilot feature take over, Takehiko closed his eyes and sipped the hot cup of semi-strong coffee he’d purchased despite the warm weather. He eased his curly-haired head back onto the soft headrest. He seemed to contemplate the upcoming reunion, and I wondered if memories might have flashed through his mind.
We were going to meet someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.
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Excerpt from Adame by Rosalind Palermo Stevenson
What I like about living with Nandi is that she commands so little space, her presence is airy, she resides here lightly, and then of course she is always changing, from one mood to the next, each with its own distinct physical form. When I write, Nandi goes off by herself to swim in the ocean. I form the words on the page. I write myself page after page, while my companion swims with only her head visible, bobbing above the waves. Sometimes, when I am frustrated with my progress, I throw the pages against the wall. I think sky and ocean.
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“The Tracks” by Felicity LuHill
Kim stared at her feet and silently counted her steps. One, two, three… 267 steps between lampposts. One hundred and fifty steps between mailboxes. Forty-two steps since the last time she passed a dog—a small, beige terrier, unafraid to yap at sulky teenage girls. She counted to remind herself that she was another step closer to her bedroom—to cool pillows, beef jerky, and documentaries about ships discovered on the bottom of the ocean.
She wondered what she would say to Stella, her mother, when she got home. “How can you forget to pick up your own daughter?” was an effective sentiment Kim frequently used.
