BLOWBALL

fiction by Roger B. Rueda The van smelled like sour tamarind candy and engine grease. I was pressed between a window and a woman clutching...

fiction by Roger B. Rueda The morning unspooled like muslin—pale, tremulous, half-translucent—as the Iloilo-Guimaras Ferry Terminal stirre...

a poem by Roger B. Rueda At the gym-turned-shelter, they handed us lugaw in translucent cups, lukewarm— no salt, no memory— and said: this w...

a short story by Roger B. Rueda There are moments that don’t crash into you—they unravel. They drift in like fog through a broken window, ...

 a poem by Roger B. Rueda I. The mug sits at the edge like a mouth that almost spoke. Brown ring scabbed around the rim— not sipped, not kis...

a poem by Roger B. Rueda When there was no world, no ridge of a mother’s back to hold you, no grave to lower your father into, no kiss to fu...

a poem by Roger B. Rueda It is not enough to say the Philippines is broken. The word has no edge— it is worn, like an old coin, passed...

 a poem by Roger B. Rueda Here’s the thing: when you crack an egg into your own pan, there’s a kind of alchemy, a yolk splitting into t...