Flash Frog

American Boy teaches me all the ways to say home run. Big Fly. Homer. Dinger. Grand Salami. When he isn’t looking, I anoint each word with their Chinese translations, imagining they are caterpillars morphed into cocoon, too early or damaged to be exchanged for…

Tomorrow we will attend the belated funerals of our youth in dress pants and collared blouses. We will give our apologies for the loss and sit in stifling silence and then go home and tell our partners of the people we caught up with,…

By the time I reach my brother’s apartment, the sun is already low, slanting across the row of houses. I park behind his truck. He opens the door before I knock, like he’s been listening for my footsteps. “You made good time,” he says,…