In our newest December issue, the speakers of various poems find themselves recalling the past, consciously or unconsciously. In “Tai Ma” by Angela Siew,
In the night, in the wind, I search the roadside for white feathers glued to a leather mask, but the weeds and burrs won’t
Never mind the grand green vistas, the granite-walled highways, the crunch of tires on a dusty dirt road. Forget the wild blackberries lining the