BLOOM
Published in the Indiana Review, Issue 40.2
Nominated for a Pushcart Prize (2019)
 
     Yunnie employed three undergrads in her lab and one of them—the one she actually needed—was missing. She assumed it was a case of the midterm flu, which struck every semester just before exams. But of the three students she’d hired in the fall, she considered Bram the most likely to contract the imaginary bug. Bram the Ham, she called him, though not to his face. Even pale, timid Catherine, who was reliable but not terribly bright, was a more likely candidate to disappear midsemester than Andrea.
     “So you haven’t seen her lately?” Yunnie asked.
     Bram looked up from a tray of papaver samples and removed one of his earbuds, letting the twisted green wire hang in front of his chest. “What?” he almost shouted.

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THE STRANGE GENIUS OF AMERICAN MEN
Published in the Massachusetts Review, Issue 50.4
Honorable Mention for a Pushcart Prize (2011)

     Alabama is bragging about his peanut fields again. Twice as long as a football field, he says. I don’t know what football is yet, but I imagine his fields are very big because Alabama spreads his arms like wings whenever he talks about them. Which is always. His arms are short and thick with muscles, cut sharp like stone. He will never be a good bird, but I smile at him anyway. Come again soon. 
     Great Aunt waits until he leaves, then flings open the curtain that separates us. 
     “Which one was that?” she asks. 
     “Alabama.” 
     “The one with all the peanuts?” 
     I nod.
     She waves her hand in the air, shooing away a bug I can’t see. “No farmers,” she says, snapping the curtain shut. 

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HAN GAHP
Published in Tin House, Issue 22
Selected by Dorothy Allison for "The Best of Tin House: Stories" (2007)
 
     There was a mudslide, two villages away. A meat calf was lost, and four horses found.
     “In a field,” the boy said. “All of them, see? Four wild horses, buried up to here.” He pressed his finger to his nose and held it there until she looked.
     “And then what?” Mee asked.
     “Then twelve men came. Twelve big men, and they tried to pull the stallion free, but he just kept sinking, so one of the men shot him. Shot the rest of them too.” He stared into his empty cup as if he’d forgotten something. “My parents would like you to come visit. They said we can celebrate the birthday you missed.”
     Mee smiled, and the boy made an effort to smile back.
     “It’s been a long time. Are they well?”