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Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | An Autumn nap (124)

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm  An autumn afternoon nap, the fan is humming a constant lullaby. Memories of sticking my fingers between the grate of the aluminium cage of the fan, wondering if it would bite or shear the tips of my fingers. I forgot the heat, the mean boy who threatened me with lewd […]

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm 

An autumn afternoon nap, the fan is humming a constant lullaby. Memories of sticking my fingers between the grate of the aluminium cage of the fan, wondering if it would bite or shear the tips of my fingers. I forgot the heat, the mean boy who threatened me with lewd gestures on the way home. Afternoon naps are like my mother’s bowls of chicken congee with a high fever and a stuffy nose.
April 19

By Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm

There's magic in translating a body of work from one language to another.

5 replies on “Nguyễn Thị Phương Trâm | An Autumn nap (124)”

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