When they finally arrived in San Ysidro, California, she climbed out of the coyote’s trunk, where she was reborn, right there in the corner of a McDonald’s parking lot, parallel to the gargantuan 405 freeway, which looked that night like the tentacles of an electric octopus—bursts of white headlights and red taillights, swirling and whizzing by, right across the chain-link fence.
When was the first time you saw the sun? Not its winding tendrils, or its luminous glow, or even its radiant essence shining down upon your skin. Not its glare, or its intensity, or its resplendent effulgence—but it.
In a moment in which our country’s various wars, Revolutionary, Civil, World, and otherwise, are trawled for something to give meaning to our present calamities, studying the Kellogg brothers’ era and milieu is a refreshing and much-needed reminder that much of the reason why daily life looks the way it does owes not to generals or presidents, but to the works of scientists and businesspeople.
I wonder, now, of all the stories she might have told had I worked harder to defy her, to learn her native language. I wonder how much more I have lost of my mother because I could not truly speak to her.
Our Summer 2018 issue is here! Featuring essays by Sarah Appleton Pine, Karen Benning, Jennifer De Leon, Matt Jones, Gretchen Knapp, and Angela Morales.
Fiction by Lindsey Drager, Elizabeth Gaffney, Anthony Inverso, and Perry Janes.
Poetry by Jasmine V. Bailey, Kai Carlson-Wee, Flower Conroy, Angie Estes, Torrin A. Greathouse, Judy Halebsky, Peter Krumbach, Michael McKee-Green, Jenna Le, Julian Randall, Jeffrey Skinner, Soren Stockman, and Zhang Zao (translated by Gavin Gao).