Summer '26 Issue｜2026 夏季刊

monday morning (interlude)

by Joy Yin

Coffee breath dipping into porcelain. The quiet learns to glaze the curve of a bowl.

A dish towel drapes over a loving arm. The tiles surrender to morning chill.

Outside, the fresh lawn gathers pale stars

each one cooling before anyone can touch it.

It is so easy to say I love you

            in a poem

when we are not in our bodies.

I could soften your eyes, 

lower them into silk cocoons

fold your palms

            into a margin

my hands never trembling

as they move toward 

yours.

Corduroy dog / sad women / / young smile / drifting / velvet breeze / sky / / blushing / spun-sugar smoke / / chalk ghosts / pressed into the sidewalk / screen door / transparent / inhaling / / exhaling / / a small arc / repeating / / mailbox throat / / waiting / for / your letter

Joy Yin is a writer and poet. Her works have been published or are forthcoming in Apprentice Writer, Milk Candy Review, Bending Genres, and more. Joy is also the founder and EIC of Lacuna Vox, a youth literary magazine.

周一早晨（插曲）

翻译：诗验室

咖啡的气息浸入瓷。平静渐渐懂得使碗之弧变光滑。

一条茶巾搭在一只温柔的手臂上。地砖屈服于清晨的凉。

外面，青翠的草坪聚满微弱的星

每一颗都在人们触摸前冷去。

当我们不在自己身体内时

          在一首诗中

说出“我爱你”是多么容易。

我可以软化你的眼神，

将其裹成蚕茧

将你的双掌

          合成一个缘

我的手在向你的手

伸去时从未

颤抖。

灯芯绒狗/伤心的女人/           /年轻的微笑/飘荡/天鹅绒风/天空/           /脸红/棉花糖烟/           /粉笔幽灵/印入人行道/纱门/透明/吸气/        /呼气/ /一道细弧/重复/           /邮箱喉/           /等待/为/你的信

尹沛心是一位诗人。其作品散见于「Apprentice Writer」「 Milk Candy Review」及「Bending Genres」等处。她还是青年文学期刊「Lacuna Vox」的创始人兼主编。

---

Cooking as Meditation

            for Ananda Coomaraswamy

by Omar Zefier

Knowing the area: sink, counter, stove-oven,

one’s relieved of the extraneous and is thus focused

           on one’s own motor functions—the actions themselves 

induce a plateaued state of oneness; in the eternity of now, the metal 

cup when clinked resounds throughout the cupboard, the sound 

reminiscent of singing bowl percussion in the hands of a Buddhist;

ruminations on the scent of pepper, ingredients in and out, seasonal vibrations—                      

           preciseness eludes an unsteady hand, but we’ve always

           measured by feeling—the end result’s a sand mandala,

for food and art never last too long, as all things’re temporary—

           the flavor itself’s a confirmation of one’s own skill and labor, 

           and if not disciplined, you’ll hope for a taste which lasts forever

in the face of a world that won’t

Omar Zefier is an artist, writer, and sound designer. His works have appeared in ExPat Press, Tough Poets Review, and Red Cedar Review.

煮饭作为一种冥想

            给 Ananda Coomaraswamy

翻译：诗验室

对整个厨房了如指掌：洗碗槽、台面、灶烤一体，

            心无旁念于是可以全神贯注

            于自己的运动功能——行动自身

催生一种和谐的平稳状态；在此刻的永恒中，金属

杯碰撞时在橱柜里发着回响，这声音

让人想起佛教徒手中颂钵的敲击声；

关于胡椒味、进出配料、以及四季振动的沉思——

           精确避开不稳的手，但我们向来

           都是靠感觉度量——最终获得一座沙坛城，

因为美食与艺术从未过久停留，一如万物都只是过眼云烟——

           味道本身只是一个人厨艺与劳动的见证者，

           倘若不够自律，你会希望有一种永恒的味道

在一个不永恒的世界面前

Omar Zefier 是一名艺术家、写作者兼声音设计师。其作品散见于「ExPat Press」「Tough Poets Review」及「Red Cedar Review」等处。

---

At the Shanghai Natural History Museum on a Saturday Afternoon

by Erin Vosters

petrified pinecone, halved 

and polished. display case 

loaded with butterflies. birds 

strung up amongst cervical 

bones. are they dead? 

my daughter asks of each 

creature we come upon, because 

the cat is slowly dying 

and we’ve had to explain 

to her what it is 

that dying means. my MRI films 

come back early. we hold them 

to the light in the living room. 

reassemble fine slices of brain. 

we are the same: black corpus callosum

and brown bract scale, remnants of ancient 

seed. someday all my matter, whatever 

its color, will be nothing but growing 

holes, and she will have to choose 

between cremation and some kind 

of taxidermy. 

Erin Vosters currently lives in Shanghai. Their work has been published / is forthcoming in EVENT, subTerrain, GEIST, and Maisonneuve. 

在上海自然历史博物馆的一个周六下午

翻译：诗验室

石化的松球，被切成两半

且打磨光滑。展示柜里

装满了蝴蝶。鸟儿

被悬挂于颈椎

骨之间。“它们死了吗？”

我女儿每看到一个生物

都会问，因为

猫正渐渐死去

而我们不得不给她解释

死亡究竟

意味着什么。我的磁共振片

提前出来了。我们在客厅

的灯光下举起它们。

重新拼凑着大脑的薄片。

我们都一样：黑色胼胝体

和棕色苞鳞，古老种子的

残余。总有一天，我所有的物质，不论

何种颜色，都将不过是生长的

洞，而她将不得不在火葬

与某种标本剥制术之间

作出选择。

Erin Vosters 目前居住在上海。其作品曾/即将发表于「EVENT」「subTerrain」「GEIST」及「Maisonneuve」等处。

---

Flux BR

by Rahul Santhanam

In radiant apocrypha

A slumped enchantment 

Fleshly tombs

Doves lit the day

If benumbs when

The mask or benisons

Bees moot spectacles 

Of incautious aspect

Fine as the cut rain

Codex sun licked tongue 

Rahul Santhanam is a poet and mathematician. His work has appeared in Blackbox Manifold, Pamenar, Propel Magazine and The Rialto, among others.

流 BR

翻译：诗验室

在光芒四射的伪经中

颓丧的魔法

血肉之墓

鸽子照亮白昼

如若麻木何时

面具或祝福

蜜蜂就不谨慎层面

的现象展开讨论

如被割伤的雨一样美好

法典阳光舔过的舌

Rahul Santhanam 是一位诗人兼数学家。其作品散见于「Blackbox Manifold」「Pamenar」「 Propel Magazine」及「 The Rialto」等处。

---

荒地

作者：周爱华

我们的家，若非一片荒地

那又是什么

我若不日日锄草

你便找不到卧室的入口

通往厨房的路，僻静遥远

我们的家，若是一片荒地

那为什么

我又听不见鸣虫的婉转

大约，它只是一片废墟

纯粹而立，对抗时间的残损

我曾经奋力搭建一个花园

终就，败给荒芜和动荡

有一瞬，就这样放任一切

直至，你再也找不到卧室和厨房

甚至，连客厅也找不到——

虽然，我们曾在那里相遇

当暴雨来临，荒地

就变成一座孤岛，漂浮在水面

为寻找你的身影，声音

我不得不扒开草丛

往事淡淡的气息，依附在草上

若隐若现

周爱华，在云南。

wilderness

translated by PLS

our home, what would it be

if it were not a wilderness

you would not find the entrance to the bedroom

if i did not weed every day

the path to the kitchen, quiet and remote

our home, if it were a wilderness

then how

could i not hear the songs of insects

perhaps it’s just a wilderness

in its pure form, protesting against time

i once strived to build a garden

but was defeated by desolation and turbulence in the end

there was a moment, i just let everything be

until you were no longer able to find the bedroom and kitchen

nor even the living room—

the place where we met for the first time

when the storm approaches, the wilderness

will turn into a lone island, floating above the water

to search for your shadow and voice

i’ll have to force open the weeds

a pale scent of the past, clinging to the grass

faintly discernible

Zhou Aihua lives in Yunnan.

---

I am a moon, I think

by Lydia Benson

waxing gibbous 

as I swell and leak milky

rounded

placental 

big enough now

that I can’t do up laces

and my back aches 

as I wash my face

crouched over sink

pulled down to floor

hips dull with the weight

of sleep

I stand as if defying 

geometry

a moon on sticks

fattening to full

and weightless within 

a naked child 

Lydia Benson (she/her) is the winner of the Free Verse Prize 2026. Her works have been published in Ink, Sweat and Tears and Lighthouse Journal, and many others. 

我想，我是一轮月

翻译：诗验室

我一边给凸起部分涂油

一边膨胀并分泌多奶的

圆滚的

有胎盘的

如今已大到

我无法系鞋带

洗脸的时候

腰会疼

在洗脸池上弓身

身体下坠

臀部因睡觉

的重量而麻木

我站着仿佛拒绝

几何结构

一轮月在细枝上

发肥至满

却于一个裸着的小孩体内

失重

Lydia Benson （她/她的）曾获「 2026 年 Free Verse 最佳诗歌奖」。其作品散见于「Ink, Sweat and Tears」「Lighthouse Journal」等处。

---

How to Be From Here

After Southern California & Ally Ang

by Joy Yin

i. 

Learn to bike before you can 

speak, let the pavement kiss your soft 

knees raw, till the land finally claims you as 

its own. Call the sun your sister, your 

white friend who spits white lies, who 

burns you tan, ready to judge how 

a body should curve. Carry sunscreen 

around like armor, like a wall. Be 

fluent in nothing but drought, say 

“home” & mean the freeway, leading

deeper into this country distant. Sing 

your grandma your ocean songs, when 

she is already pixelated, almost translucent. 

ii.

May the girls on every sun-baked street learn the 

language their bodies already speak. & may 

every bruise become a symbol, proof of survival. 

Even if your skin is foreign on top of 

foreign, covered with a coat of normal.

iii.

& perhaps one day, the sprinklers buried

in the bushes will heal you all on their own. 

Still, let it burn, let it bloom.

Joy Yin is a writer and poet. Her works have been published or are forthcoming in Apprentice Writer, Milk Candy Review, Bending Genres, and more. Joy is also the founder and EIC of Lacuna Vox, a youth literary magazine.

从此该如何

致南加州与Ally Ang

翻译：诗验室

1

在学会说话以前学会

骑自行车，让路面亲吻你柔软

的膝直至破裂，直到大地最终将你

拥入怀中。称呼太阳为姐妹，你那

口吐善意谎言、将你晒成古铜色

并随时准备对她人身材指手画脚的

白人朋友。将防晒霜

如盔甲或一面墙那样随身携带。语言

久旱至荒，口中说着

“家”却想表达高速公路，通往

这个遥远国度的深处。为

外婆唱你的海洋之歌，在她

早已像素化、几近透明的面容前。

2

但愿在每条烈日晒过的街头的女孩都学会

自己身体已经懂得的语言。& 但愿

每块淤青都变成一个符号，生存的证据。

即便你的皮肤属于外来

之外，被一件标准的外衣覆盖。

3

& 或许有一天，埋于灌木丛中的

洒水器将会只手治愈你。

且任其燃烧，随它盛开吧。

尹沛心是一位诗人。其作品散见于「Apprentice Writer」「 Milk Candy Review」及「Bending Genres」等处。她还是青年文学期刊「Lacuna Vox」的创始人兼主编。

---

1.6 / 九月初 / 船壳溶解

翻译：Jiayin Joanna Wang

一个男人轻松攀上我们的梧桐树。

而你正成为。高处的枝桠间，

他的链锯燧亮太阳。在

盈满的临界，我按下快门。田野

变成空地。青草齐腰深。

每栋新楼都是一座旅馆。

挖掘机猛冲向前，连根拔起荨麻与

接骨木。玻璃窗粉碎。木屑机

轰鸣。你开始蹬动双腿。一间低矮的

街角小店落下卷闸门。他把梧桐树干

削成段段圆木。阳光直射，刺盲我们的

小房间。一张图像抵达世界各地，

方式有无数种。

每条讯息都以脉冲的形式传递。

早晨随着行李箱的滚轮震颤。

空地变成工地。没有

观看者，照片就只是数据。规划师

判定这座城市住宅充足。我们都

知道，照片一旦过曝

会发生什么。

你学会了咯咯笑。我们的房东曾经住在

运河边的一套公寓里。市政荒野获得

大门，不复存在。规划师宣布这座

城市必须硬化。一颗樱桃变成李子、

变成梨子。你的眼睛，珠光蓝里透出淡褐色，

探问：这就是世界吗？很快，昼与夜

将等长。

我们的新房东是一家北欧养老基金。

落叶在路面上泛黄。疲倦抚平

思绪，直至沉默。我捡到一块坠落的

灰泥，把它带走。接骨木莓揭示

难以磨灭的果实。我放下一缕线，拾起另一缕。

地标转瞬即逝。破败的表面

多孔。你是未来的力量。

你的身体让我接地。我哼唱那些

记不起的词。夜的赋格变成昼的赋格、

梦的赋格。我的乳汁稀了。我从未

想过自己的语言会瓦解。船壳

溶入冰冷的水中。经与纬，

右与左。

一绞线纠结成一团乱麻。我一度

通过皮肤思考。我哺乳你的游乐场

标记着炸弹落下的地方。当我

亲吻你的脸颊时，你睁大双眼。我曾以为我能

书写一段童年。生活慢慢放它那条不稳的

线。一度默契的信任不再。沉默冷却。

一张照片就是一句话。没有

句法。我拍摄挽歌：已逝，却

仍在。相机化视觉为

机制。我稍后再给它们贴上标签，永不

忘记它们的意义。曾是生物的

这座城市已成机器。

Jiayin Joanna Wang 是一名中英译者。其诗歌翻译曾出现于「2025年柏林诗歌节」与「Lyrikline」等处。

Sylee Gore 擅长在不同语言、图像与空间之间创作。

1.6 / Early September / The Hull Dissolves

by Sylee Gore, Chinese translation by Jiayin Joanna Wang

A man scales our sycamore easily. 

You become. In its upper boughs, 

his chainsaw flints the sun. At the 

brimming cusp, I photograph. A field 

becomes a vacant lot. Grasses hip high. 

Every new building is a hotel.

An excavator charges, uprooting nettles and 

elders. Windowglass shatters. A woodchipper 

whirs. Your legs begin to piston. A low-slung 

cornershop is shuttered. He slices the sycamore 

trunk to rounds. Unfiltered sun blinds our 

small rooms. There are so many ways to send 

an image around the world.

Every message travels as a series of pulses. 

Morning rattles with suitcase wheels. A 

vacant lot becomes a building site. Without a 

viewer, a photograph is simply data. A planner 

decides this city has plenty of homes. We all 

know what happens when a photograph is 

overexposed.

You learn to chortle. Our landlord lived in a 

flat by the canal. Municipal wilderness acquires 

gates and is lost. A city planner declares this 

city must harden. A cherry becomes a plum, 

then a pear. Your eyes, hazel in pearling blue, 

probe: Is this the world? Soon, night and day 

will be of equal length.

Our new landlord is a Nordic pension fund. 

Leaves yellow on pavement. Weariness soothes 

thought to silence. I find a fallen piece of 

plasterwork, and take it. Elderberries unravel 

indelible fruit. I drop a thread, lift another. 

Landmarks are fleeting. A ruined surface is 

porous. You’re a force of the future.

Your bulk earths me. I hum the words I don’t 

remember. Night fugue becomes day fugue, 

then dream fugue. My milk has thinned. I never 

thought my language could unravel. A hull 

dissolves into cold waters. Warp and weft, right 

and left.

A skein becomes a tangle. Once I thought 

through my skin. Playgrounds where I nurse 

you mark where bombs once fell. Your eyes 

widen when I kiss your cheek. I thought I could 

author a childhood. Life unspools its unsteady 

line. A once-tacit trust is lost. Silence cools.

A photograph is a sentence. Without 

syntax. I photograph elegies: lost, but 

still here. A camera turns vision into a 

mechanism. I’ll label them later, never 

forget what they mean. Once a creature, 

this city has become a machine.

Sylee Gore works across languages, images, and spaces.

Jiayin Joanna Wang is a literary translator between Chinese and English. Her translations have been featured at the Berlin Poetry Festival (2025) and in Lyrikline.

---

Driving Lesson

by J Min Wang

Are you _________,

I said no. 

I had another pupil the other day and I asked if he’s _________ and he got quite upset, he said he was _________, I don’t know, it doesn’t hurt to ask, nowadays you could be so many things. Are you _________? 

I said yes. 

Lots of _________ people have English names you know. I want to get your name right, is your name __. 

I said that’s perfect. 

I got it right on the first go? 

I said yes. 

___, ___, ___ , right? Am I saying it right? Is that your name, ___ ? 

I said yes. 

I didn’t mess it up did I, __? 

I said no.

J Min Wang (they/them)’s writing has been published in Pinky, Outhouse Magazine, BIEDE, and others.

驾驶课

翻译：诗验室

“你是 _________ 么,”

                                        我说不是。

“我曾经有另一名学生然后问他是不是 _________ 然后他有点难过，他说他是 _________ ，我不知道，问问总没问题吧，现如今你可以是很多东西。你是 _________ 吗？”

我说是的。

“你知道的很多 _________ 人有英文名。我想正确叫出你的名字，是 _________ 么。”

我说完美。

“我第一次就叫对了吗？”

我说是的。

“__，__，__，对吧？我发音对不？是你名字么，__？”

我说是的。

“我没有搞砸吧，__？”

我说没有。

J Min Wang 的作品散见于「Pinky」「Outhouse Magazine」及「别的」等处。

---

Tableau of a Summer Night

by Omar Zefier

Evening crickets cast songs as sonic nets,

           ensnaring the unknowing world with subtlety; 

footsteps scurry on the outskirts like a doctor

             percussing one’s cheek, inquiring: ‘does this hurt?’;

            an amber glow

flicks against a blackbruised bulb,

            its filament dancing red, trembling

            wild-orange, hissing—dry as desiccated petals

                                    pressed within the pages of Darwin’s journal,

                                               dismembered moths

                                    settle at the bottom of darkened glass,

                        warming remnants of themselves in the overarching dither; 

toads press their skulls against the sky, from out the grass,

            and sigh loudly betwixt a beard of weeds

and a granite chin dribbling spittle from the afternoon’s dew,

                        like a kiss refused to be wiped off anytime soon;

            and the corner store’s neon

                        countenance communicates in Morse code

            with fireflies and winking headlights fixing to extinguish 

                        themselves for one last time

Omar Zefier is an artist, writer, and sound designer. His works have appeared in ExPat Press, Tough Poets Review, and Red Cedar Review.

夏夜图景

翻译：诗验室

傍晚的蟋蟀织出一张张声网，

           以其微妙的手段捕捉毫无察觉的世界；

脚步声在郊外急促响起，如一位医生

            轻敲病人的面颊，并问道：“疼吗？”；

            一道琥珀色的光

在发黑的灯泡里闪烁，

            灯丝跳动至红，颤抖着

            野橙色，嘶嘶作响——如达尔文

                              日记中被挤压的花瓣般干枯，

                                       肢体残缺的飞蛾

                               歇于昏暗的玻璃瓶底部，

                   在总体的慌乱中温暖自身的残余；

蟾蜍从草丛中           将自己的头，         探向天空，

            在一茬茬杂草中高声叹息

花岗岩表面淌着午后露水的渍，

                   仿佛一个许久不肯被抹去的吻；

             街角商店的霓虹灯

                   用摩尔斯电码与萤火虫们

             以及即将熄灭的闪烁车灯  

                   互换表情

Omar Zefier 是一名艺术家、写作者兼声音设计师。其作品散见于「ExPat Press」「Tough Poets Review」及「Red Cedar Review」等处。           

*cover photography 封面攝影 © yuan