for my father
My father’s hands flapped in a spiral of smoke—a weak light.
What did I dream then, a child drenched in image? Sleek light,
falling honeyed rivers, purpled fruit. What did I need
to imagine my body, calm in migration? I wanted to seek light.
Dawn sank into my hands like rain. I wanted to evaporate
& ask God to reveal my face. I wanted to speak light
& watch the earth settle into being. Each splash of wilderness
unraveled into clean, solid lines. From there I would leak light.

Kim Kyung-Hoon / Reuters
A man in a bear costume takes part in an emergency-response drill simulating a bear intrusion in Yaita, Tochigi Prefecture, Japan, June 17, 2026.Kim Kyung-Hoon / Reuters
Hunters look at a map and diagram while taking part in a bear-emergency-response drill in Yaita on June 17, 2026.Kim Kyung-Hoon / Reuters
A man wearing a bear costume takes part in a bear-emergency-response drill in Yaita.Kim Kyung-Hoon / Reuters
A participant deploys bear spray during the drill.

On a fall afternoon 15 years ago, I met an idealistic researcher outside a Stanford coffee shop to discuss our shared dream: using AI to detect cancer. He had wiry hair, a penchant for talking with his hands, and a reputation for brilliance. He worked at a research lab that developed early screens for cancer; I, at 20, had just learned that I carried a mutation that conferred a very high risk of breast, ovarian, and other cancers.

In early 2025, J. D. Vance paid a visit to Les Invalides, in Paris, where he was invited to clutch the sword of the Marquis de Lafayette, a hero of the American Revolution. In a speech the next day, Vance drew a parallel between that sword and artificial intelligence, calling them both “weapons that are dangerous in the wrong hands but are incredible tools for liberty and prosperity in the right hands.”
Whether the rollout of AI in the U.S.

For several months last year, a Ukrainian housewife, 35 and lonely in a marriage that had gone cold, traded WhatsApp messages with a Chechen commander, Achmad, stationed somewhere in Ukraine’s occupied south. They wrote about their days, their disappointments, what they hoped to do when the war ended. She asked about the front. He told her.
“Send me a picture,” she said. “I want to see your life.