Mirage: Photoshoot
Photoshoot Photos by Kelsey Phung
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Spring 2022 Magazine — Mirage
Mirage: Letter from the Editor
Dear reader, These past couple of years have felt akin to wandering aimlessly through an incessant desert. Whenever we thought we might be nearing an oasis, it turned out to just be a trick of light. An unfounded hope. A mirage. The Strand’s spring 2022 magazine features nine pieces that consider the theme of “mirage”
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Untitled
Untitled Words and Photo by Max Lees The hunting party sets out Into the mudsucking swamp stumbling through thick fog and shooting at answers to a question they’re still looking for Carrying black-and-white binoculars, chanting to a two- beat stomp chasing ghosts and waving excitedly at some object in the distance conjured by their burning
Don Quixote: A delusional hero for delirious times
When you can’t keep up with the world, make yourself a new one
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Take off the rose-tinted glasses, Canada
Take off the rose-tinted glasses, Canada Words by Abi AkinladeIllustration by Helen Yu The Bible’s Book of Exodus refers to “a land flowing with milk and honey”; it alludes to an idyllic utopia in which its inhabitants never suffer from grief or hunger. According to the likes of Doug Ford and Don Cherry, Canada—the country
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June
June Words by Rion Levy Illustration by Natalie Song I prefer my peaches without their skins Because then I’m left to only chew The sweetness of their flesh While their skins and pits can run and hide. I prefer my people, too, like I prefer my peaches I want to know the riches of their
midnight
midnight Words by Eva Chang Illustration by Aida Javan rosewood straddled art and the study of it, an anxiety disorder and an inflated ego, a yellow sertraline pill and a jeweled black corset. they straddled boys and girls, sometimes. they loved the clinical study of the body, naked in chiaroscuro; sex; being a drag queen;
Why I dreaded making chai
Comforting the Unseeable in a Brown-immigrant household
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Mirage of memory
Mirage of Memory Words & Photos by Barbara AthanasoulasIllustration by Amie Leung I remember blankets of snow when my father died. But now, fourteen years later, I wonder how much of that memory has been filled in from bleak movie scenes. Does it matter if it snowed? I’ve lived with that memory long enough that