KHÔRA

Everyday Apocalypses

I have been asked What are you? more times than I have been asked my name. My body is expected to represent much more than merely its flesh.

I am asked if I speak English. I am asked where I’m really from. Where I was born. I’m asked what kind of food I eat. Where my parents are from. I’m asked which parent is which. I’m asked why I don’t speak Spanish, and why I don’t speak Chinese. Why I don’t know my own culture. When I insist that I’m American, that my parents are American, and that they’ve never spoken any other language except English, my words are chewed up, contorted in their mouths; spit back at me like insults…

Essay, Lyric EssayGuest CollaboratorOctober 10, 2024A.B. Lim

The Minotaur

No one ever told you the Minotaur was hung. You’d heard whispers, but always wondered if that was a little racist, like “all monsters are hung,” that kind of thing. But when you saw him for the first time?

You gaped. You stared. You felt small and you felt…was the reddening from shame or from sex?

You felt turned on.

Essay, Hybrid, Lyric EssayGuest CollaboratorSeptember 18, 2024Michael Nagle

to buwaya baby

Dear Buwaya baby, Even a land can be jealous. Even a volcano can get sick of its own disruptions. It’s easy to find the fault lines. Pointed blame is just that. I’d never blame you, buwaya. The land rips open so that the ocean fish can get slick along the fissure. That atlas moth was employed to cover it up — a scapegoat with wings...