Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 33.1
Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 33.1
When my uncle, Onoima, returned from South Africa, he did not talk about what he had seen there. He only slept for hours, waking in the middle of the night to shuffle around the kitchen for something …
Around the time he entered the eighth grade, Agustín began to watch pornography on a blue iMac he had salvaged from a dumpster. There was a McDonald’s next door to his apartment building, and he …
When she got a paper cut, that speck seemed newly foreboding—she’d lick it off, heart accelerating, as if to let it pool for even a moment would invite some deviously patient menace.
When I was young and very new to the world, my keeper took me to a place he referred to as the annex, though, since it was not proximate to any other structure, I had a hard time understanding what …
Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 32.2
Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 32.2
Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 32.2
Exclusively available in the print edition of Gulf Coast 32.2
A ship. She’s hanged from the mast. She’s lying on the bed and I’m lying next to her, holding her hand. She talks as though nothing were out of the ordinary.
And the cloud that took over the family’s house that Tuesday wasn’t made of your run-of-the-mill water vapor. It was so humid and heavy you could reach out and shake hands with it, and it would …
Still, she liked what she had become. She slept in a den of sticks of her own making. Language and its judgment escaped her. Was being animal closer to God than innocence? Her voice was her breath. …
The more I looked at her the more she seemed angry. This was probably because I was breaking into John’s computer again.
Rationalizing didn’t help. No matter how much he told himself that this was a different woman, that it couldn’t be the same widow, he couldn’t escape the gut certainty that she was.
When I first saw the bright gold rip of gas flares against the Corpus night sky from the passenger seat of some guy’s green Datsun—all that oil just rushing incinerated into the air—I said, …
The color yellow and the red heart on the box remind me parts / of childhood are nice not / embarrassing. Does that include eating / cheerios with fingers?
Here it was laid out: we’d tricked with Clint a few times over the years. Sure, he was a geek, but he possessed this obscure magnetism. He was so indelibly himself, we allowed ourselves, when with …
The story the fiction writer reads is fiction. His wife has never cheated. He has never run over a dog.
I needed Alice to go with me to the Baha’i temple in Wilmette because she’d agreed to model in a photo series I was doing—white girls co-opting global cultures. I was calling it Multi-Culti, …