The constancy of seeing a man on a tricycle every time I visit my hometown

On her second day in the weeping maiden’s house, she finds the courage to look into the room of ghosts. The rest of the house has not lived up to her editor’s expectations. It is prosaic, unremarkable considering the rumors; on their last call, she rattled out a…

“You lose too much hair. Eat more sesame seeds so your hair will be darker and healthier.” My mom would say this to me whenever she finds my hair all over the floor. “I won’t have darker hair just by eating black sesame seeds. Does eating red beans…

1. Back when I was in elementary school, Mother used to pin up my hair with chopsticks—soft pink with cherry blossoms creeping along its narrow circumference. The silky threadlike strands of hair that hung from the top of my head never stayed up for longer than a few…

My mother propagates plants next to the kitchen sink, slipping cuttings into plastic bottles, laying seeds down in shallow dishes. They soak, stagnant, in their isolated pools of water. In between cycles of dishwashing, my mother watches them. She waters them. She sets them towards the sun, these…