<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?><rss xmlns:dc="http://purl.org/dc/elements/1.1/" xmlns:content="http://purl.org/rss/1.0/modules/content/" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" version="2.0"><channel><title><![CDATA[magazine]]></title><description><![CDATA[magazine]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/all-news</link><generator>RSS for Node</generator><lastBuildDate>Tue, 22 Sep 2026 20:39:35 GMT</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/blog-feed.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title><![CDATA[Dialogue Between a Lighthouse and the Fog]]></title><description><![CDATA[Lighthouse: I have been practicing brightness. Fog: I have been practicing almost. Lighthouse: Ships depend on me. Fog: Ships doubt you. (long pause full of salt) Lighthouse: I am not afraid of being seen. Fog: I am not afraid of being felt. Somewhere offshore, a bell rings without choosing sides.]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/dialogue-between-a-lighthouse-and-the-fog</link><guid isPermaLink="false">699e875cdcfe76b0f2d16bba</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue II]]></category><pubDate>Wed, 25 Feb 2026 05:24:08 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Nora M.</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Clockwork Heart]]></title><description><![CDATA[You try to sleep off the jetlag but get thwarted by the cacophony of vile scents invading your cabin. You desperately wrap your Oxford scarf around your nose, hoping the smell of the carefully placed cow excrement every ten meters would not pervade the thick British winter fabric. However, shit from a holy animal or not doesn’t care if you’re a Rhodes scholar or not. Certainly not its smell. And so sleep heads north while you continue south. You look at your two giant luggage bags—one filled...]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/clockwork-heart</link><guid isPermaLink="false">699e872812cb2e7c18eef7b1</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue II]]></category><pubDate>Wed, 25 Feb 2026 05:23:06 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Malsoma</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[The Sheets of Pickle Jars and Broken Bicycles ]]></title><description><![CDATA[She was never a writer, not that I know. Yet that day, the tons of paper sheets I found in the dusty pantry, hidden between the pickle jars and my broken bicycle, told a different story. The meticulous handwriting was my grandmother’s; the same as the carelessly scribbled addresses, names, and phone numbers I saw in the kitchen every day. I took the first sheet that came to my hand and began to read.  Şehnaz Özdemir. What an unusual name. The paper said the woman was the manager of the...]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/the-sheets-of-pickle-jars-and-broken-bicycles</link><guid isPermaLink="false">699e86e2bf1bf6f6a2a5de75</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue II]]></category><pubDate>Wed, 25 Feb 2026 05:22:21 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Eray Erkek</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[Two Names]]></title><description><![CDATA[I have two names. But I never say that when people ask me what my name is.  To my newly made childhood friends, I would cheerfully chirp “my name is Sarah!” and took immense pride in my English name. I would search up what it meant and the same thing always popped up with the cheesy phrases and baby names websites: “Your name means princess! The Hebrew origin of the name was featured all throughout history.” I would be overjoyed. I would brag to all my elementary friends that my name meant...]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/two-names</link><guid isPermaLink="false">695f2067243e47cfabeb3f26</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue I]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 08 Jan 2026 05:58:16 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Sarah Xu</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[My Mother, Part 2]]></title><description><![CDATA[My mother asks me what I want, and I say love  She does not know I mean love from her  She only knows love as the meaning of eumsik. Food. To fill the belly , she says. Then what of my heart?  Her mouth is webbed across a series of countries, Her tongue unable to shape what it means to speak simply in the American language Her gaping mouth in the shape of an O , the only distinguishable feature of her being her eyes as I watch as more lines continue to appear with her smiles. I watch as she...]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/my-mother-part-2</link><guid isPermaLink="false">695f2030243e47cfabeb3e8a</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue I]]></category><pubDate>Thu, 08 Jan 2026 03:10:49 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Alison Choi</dc:creator></item><item><title><![CDATA[To Be a Tiger Queen]]></title><description><![CDATA[She must be proud, so her head lifts up high. She must be fierce, so her brows curve intensely. She must be strong, so her muscles ripple endlessly. She must be brave, so her eyes show no fear. She must be powerful, so her coat ruffles luxuriously. She must be destroyed, so her mind is the remainder. A cacophony of colors is not enough, so she becomes the rainbow. A menagerie of marbles too dull, so she shines brighter than the sun. An ocean of coral would be insufficient, so she twists and...]]></description><link>https://thewashtenawtimes.wixsite.com/magazine/post/to-be-a-tiger-queen</link><guid isPermaLink="false">692bb8edce8000f2f4ba25d2</guid><category><![CDATA[Issue I]]></category><pubDate>Sun, 30 Nov 2025 03:24:43 GMT</pubDate><dc:creator>Delphine Lovelace</dc:creator></item></channel></rss>