{"id":19640,"date":"2025-05-21T15:08:57","date_gmt":"2025-05-21T20:08:57","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/?p=19640"},"modified":"2025-05-31T20:35:19","modified_gmt":"2025-06-01T01:35:19","slug":"like-bursting-jellyfish-across-the-neon-sea","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/05\/21\/like-bursting-jellyfish-across-the-neon-sea\/","title":{"rendered":"Like Bursting Jellyfish across the Neon Sea"},"content":{"rendered":"\n<p class=\"has-large-font-size\"><strong><strong>Like Bursting Jellyfish Across the Neon Sea<\/strong><\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<ul class=\"wp-block-social-links is-content-justification-right is-layout-flex wp-container-core-social-links-is-layout-765c4724 wp-block-social-links-is-layout-flex\"><li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-facebook  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.facebook.com\/profile.php?id=61556140010887\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12 2C6.5 2 2 6.5 2 12c0 5 3.7 9.1 8.4 9.9v-7H7.9V12h2.5V9.8c0-2.5 1.5-3.9 3.8-3.9 1.1 0 2.2.2 2.2.2v2.5h-1.3c-1.2 0-1.6.8-1.6 1.6V12h2.8l-.4 2.9h-2.3v7C18.3 21.1 22 17 22 12c0-5.5-4.5-10-10-10z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Facebook<\/span><\/a><\/li>\n\n<li class=\"wp-social-link wp-social-link-instagram  wp-block-social-link\"><a href=\"https:\/\/www.instagram.com\/boudin_mcneese\/\" class=\"wp-block-social-link-anchor\"><svg width=\"24\" height=\"24\" viewBox=\"0 0 24 24\" version=\"1.1\" xmlns=\"http:\/\/www.w3.org\/2000\/svg\" aria-hidden=\"true\" focusable=\"false\"><path d=\"M12,4.622c2.403,0,2.688,0.009,3.637,0.052c0.877,0.04,1.354,0.187,1.671,0.31c0.42,0.163,0.72,0.358,1.035,0.673 c0.315,0.315,0.51,0.615,0.673,1.035c0.123,0.317,0.27,0.794,0.31,1.671c0.043,0.949,0.052,1.234,0.052,3.637 s-0.009,2.688-0.052,3.637c-0.04,0.877-0.187,1.354-0.31,1.671c-0.163,0.42-0.358,0.72-0.673,1.035 c-0.315,0.315-0.615,0.51-1.035,0.673c-0.317,0.123-0.794,0.27-1.671,0.31c-0.949,0.043-1.233,0.052-3.637,0.052 s-2.688-0.009-3.637-0.052c-0.877-0.04-1.354-0.187-1.671-0.31c-0.42-0.163-0.72-0.358-1.035-0.673 c-0.315-0.315-0.51-0.615-0.673-1.035c-0.123-0.317-0.27-0.794-0.31-1.671C4.631,14.688,4.622,14.403,4.622,12 s0.009-2.688,0.052-3.637c0.04-0.877,0.187-1.354,0.31-1.671c0.163-0.42,0.358-0.72,0.673-1.035 c0.315-0.315,0.615-0.51,1.035-0.673c0.317-0.123,0.794-0.27,1.671-0.31C9.312,4.631,9.597,4.622,12,4.622 M12,3 C9.556,3,9.249,3.01,8.289,3.054C7.331,3.098,6.677,3.25,6.105,3.472C5.513,3.702,5.011,4.01,4.511,4.511 c-0.5,0.5-0.808,1.002-1.038,1.594C3.25,6.677,3.098,7.331,3.054,8.289C3.01,9.249,3,9.556,3,12c0,2.444,0.01,2.751,0.054,3.711 c0.044,0.958,0.196,1.612,0.418,2.185c0.23,0.592,0.538,1.094,1.038,1.594c0.5,0.5,1.002,0.808,1.594,1.038 c0.572,0.222,1.227,0.375,2.185,0.418C9.249,20.99,9.556,21,12,21s2.751-0.01,3.711-0.054c0.958-0.044,1.612-0.196,2.185-0.418 c0.592-0.23,1.094-0.538,1.594-1.038c0.5-0.5,0.808-1.002,1.038-1.594c0.222-0.572,0.375-1.227,0.418-2.185 C20.99,14.751,21,14.444,21,12s-0.01-2.751-0.054-3.711c-0.044-0.958-0.196-1.612-0.418-2.185c-0.23-0.592-0.538-1.094-1.038-1.594 c-0.5-0.5-1.002-0.808-1.594-1.038c-0.572-0.222-1.227-0.375-2.185-0.418C14.751,3.01,14.444,3,12,3L12,3z M12,7.378 c-2.552,0-4.622,2.069-4.622,4.622S9.448,16.622,12,16.622s4.622-2.069,4.622-4.622S14.552,7.378,12,7.378z M12,15 c-1.657,0-3-1.343-3-3s1.343-3,3-3s3,1.343,3,3S13.657,15,12,15z M16.804,6.116c-0.596,0-1.08,0.484-1.08,1.08 s0.484,1.08,1.08,1.08c0.596,0,1.08-0.484,1.08-1.08S17.401,6.116,16.804,6.116z\"><\/path><\/svg><span class=\"wp-block-social-link-label screen-reader-text\">Instagram<\/span><\/a><\/li><\/ul>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Alexandra McAnarney<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\"><br>When the first bomb goes off it\u2019s far enough away from home that it\u2019s easy to confuse for a stray thunder burst.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl, who lies awake as she does most nights since she arrived back in the capital city with the mother, hears it, bites the inside of her cheeks, and says nothing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">She stares at the starkness of the room. Lines of pulsing halogen light from a bank sign next door filter through the high windows. They print their glowing white marks against the oak-paneled bedroom walls like a painted accusation.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl rubs her sleep crusted eyes and throws her water lily printed sheets over her head.\u00a0 The harsh glow of the bank sign, the shadowy movements of palm trees strafing across the zinc roof, the monitoring eyes skipping on the smoke-choked streets, all threaten to burst her room open and drag her outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl burrows deeper into the bed sheets and squeezes her tears away. She pretends she\u2019s swimming at the bottom of one of Monet\u2019s dark blue ponds, where silence blooms like algae, surrounded by the green stems of pads, lilies, and frog legs.\u00a0 She pretends she is a wiggling carp, iridescent and big-mouthed, able to swallow worlds before they can swallow her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">A second bomb interrupts her story. This time the sound is more defined.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">This means an advance.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Deeper and deeper, the girl swims. But fear wins and she can no longer stay in her pond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">&nbsp;\u201cMami?\u201d She calls out in a dry, thin voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">In less than a minute, the mother walks into the room, \u201cHey, baby, hey,\u201d the mother clicks on the lamp on the nightstand and sits next to her on the bed. She scoops the girl out of her bedsheet pond, \u201cIs everything ok?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWhat\u2019s that noise?\u201d The girl asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cIt\u2019s just fireworks from another Christmas party that\u2019s very far away, sweetie. Probably behind the mountain. You wouldn\u2019t even be able to see them,\u201d The mother strokes the girl&#8217;s cheek and pulls her in tightly to her chest. The girl breathes in the mother\u2019s Nivea face cream, detergent, and lavender oil.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWhy aren\u2019t we ever invited?\u201d The girl asks, pulling her head back annoyed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYou can\u2019t always expect to be friends with everyone,\u201d The mother responds and stares with tired eyes at the dusty tile floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Before the girl can comment on how sad and rude that sounds, she hears an imperious and metonymic<em> thump, thump, thump<\/em>, come down the hallway.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The bedroom door swings open and the grandmother walks in, silver-headed cane drumming along like a war call. She plops down heavily on the opposite side of the mother, leaving the girl sandwiched tightly in the middle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cThey\u2019re calling it on the radio. They\u2019ll be here by dawn. I knew it was a bad idea for you two to come back,\u201d she says wearily.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWell, we\u2019re here,\u201d the mother looks down at the girl, who remains unmoving, \u201cSo don\u2019t ask for so much from her.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cThis is what this country is. Why hide it from her?\u201d The grandmother licks her lips, \u201cIs there any water here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">&nbsp;<br>The girl shakes her head, slowly, trying not to move or interrupt the two women.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cHow many times have I told you? You\u2019re supposed to fill the jug every night before bed, girl. Lord, I\u2019m parched,\u201d the grandmother smacks her dry gums.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl notices that she is not wearing her dentures, a fact which makes her stomach spasm.&nbsp;The grandmother always wears her dentures around other people, including family.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cI could go into the kitchen before the power dies,\u201d the mother offers, reluctantly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cOut of the question,\u201d the grandmother says huffily, \u201cWe should have reinforced the back patio gate after the first time they broke in and ransacked the pantry. Anyone might be in there, waiting in the dark. They\u2019re like rats, especially when they\u2019re cornered.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl looks down at her hands and out into the darkness of her own room and mumbles, \u201cI don\u2019t like this story.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYou think it&#8217;s a story?\u201d the grandmother grunts, \u201cGrow up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">A third bomb goes off. A sonar whirlwind of bursting glass and car alarms float on a raging backdraft that blasts across the black asphalt outside their building.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">From the bedroom, the impact of the destruction is muffled. But the grandmother, who is no stranger to the damage of armed conflict, winces and clutches her cane close to her chest like a musket.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYou know she doesn\u2019t mean it,\u201d the mother leans in and whispers, \u201cAbue just finds this all a little too familiar.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl looks questioningly at the mother, but a rolling blackout interrupts her mother\u2019s apology.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Absolute darkness cloaks the city and the three women for another night.&nbsp;The grandmother sighs so heavily that she makes the bed springs squeak, \u201cLooks like no water until tomorrow,\u201d she mutters. But she catches herself before she can say<em> if we\u2019re still here to care.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl begins to whimper but checks herself. The mother, who notices, stands up from the bed. Rummaging in the dark, she asks the girl, \u201cWhere did you put Bebe?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl doesn\u2019t immediately respond to the whereabouts of her stuffed shark. She\u2019s been trying real hard to not need him because she\u2019s tired of feeling weak and small, \u201cHe\u2019s around,\u201d she says, noncommittal, \u201cMaybe the closet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWhat? Since when?\u201d the mother asks, surprised and a little hurt. Bebe the shark was the first thing the mother lay next to the girl when she was born. The girl was so tiny when she first came out of the womb that she was able to cling to all of Bebe like a pink remora.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl looks at the grandmother, afraid. While looking at the oak-paneled walls, she replies with a quivering voice, \u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The grandmother looks down and blinks. She grasps the girl\u2019s hand in some semblance of an apology, \u201cTry the drawer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">It\u2019s impossible to see in the dark. All the girl can hear is the mother moving, shuffling, pushing, straining, until she calls out in victory. \u201cHere he is!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">She throws the stuffed shark at the girl, who immediately wraps her arms around him.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cNobody puts Bebe in a drawer,\u201d the mother says, jokingly referencing their favorite pirated VHS, \u201cOr the candles for that matter,\u201d She lays them on the nightstand.&nbsp; With careful but firm hands, the mother&nbsp;places one in the iron candle holder saturated in white wax next to the girl\u2019s bed.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">In the flickering candlelight, their shadows become broad smudges, like blast residue against a concrete wall. The girl shudders.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The mother gives the grandmother a pointed glance, mouthing the words <em>Just. Try<\/em>. The grandmother smooths the girl&#8217;s curls.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">When a fourth bomb goes off, slightly further than the third, it\u2019s followed by a <em>pop, pop, pop<\/em> sound.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWhat\u2019s that?\u201d The girl asks, alarmed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cOh that?\u201d The grandmother responds in a forced, teasing tone, \u201cThose are just really big bubbles. When you can afford it you can blow enormous, glowing balls that pop in cover everyone in a warm, soapy film.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cThat\u2019s stupid,\u201d the girl replies with suspicion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The sound is followed by a faint <em>rat-tat-tat-tat-tat<\/em> then a second, closer and more bone rattling <em>RAT TAT TAT<\/em> from the street outside the bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The mother tightens her arm around the girl\u2019s chest, \u201cThank god for concrete walls and high windows,\u201d she whispers, feeling a creeping dread lap at her feet and knees like the cold waves of the Pacific.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The grandmother locks her grip on the girl\u2019s hand, \u201cThat\u2019ll only get you so far,\u201d she mutters to herself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Outside the sound of machine gunfire continues. The girl tries to shake both women off, \u201cWhat? What\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The grandmother loosens her grip. In the dark, the girl can tell she is choosing her words wisely.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">&nbsp;\u201cThat,\u201d the grandmother says carefully, \u201cIs a very fat man farting.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWhat?\u201d say the mother and the girl in synchronized, head-swiveling shock.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cWell yes,\u201d the grandmother replies, sitting up straight in the bed with feigned haughtiness, \u201cHaven\u2019t you ever eaten all of your frijoles and just\u2013\u201d the grandmother presses her twisted hands to her lips. her palms dig into her mouth, opens her green eyes wide, and blows the loudest raspberry the girl has ever heard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">&nbsp;\u201cPHBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBTBT.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl giggles. So does the mother.&nbsp;&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The grandmother never farts. Let alone make fart noises.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYou try it,\u201d the grandmother says.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl tries but laughs, \u201cI can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The mother looks at the grandmother and winks at the girl, \u201cPHHHTHTHTHTHTHTHTH\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The little girl cackles and tries it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">They continue making fart noises to outpace the machine gun fire in the street and they start to believe that their spasmodic laughter is what makes the room shake.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Then the girl stops laughing. Through the slats of the high windows, the girl sees a burst of light that sweeps through the night sky like a delicate tendril reaching for the stars.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cThat looks like fireworks!\u201d the girl exclaims, \u201cI want to see the fireworks.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYou can\u2019t honey,\u201d the mother says nervously, \u201cYou can\u2019t be close to any windows or the outside right now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cBut if it\u2019s a party, then there\u2019s fireworks, unless you\u2019re lying to me,\u201d the girl says, \u201cLet me see them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The mother doesn\u2019t respond. The silence in the room grows like a dark explosion moving in slow motion<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">Until the grandmother jocularly ripples through the tension by asking the girl, \u201cWhat do you know about jellyfish?\u201d&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl doesn\u2019t know anything about jellyfish yet. In her firework-less spite she responds acidly, \u201cThey\u2019re gross and I hate them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The grandmother leans in and chides, \u201cThere\u2019s a lot of things out there that are gross and that you think you hate. Do you know anything about them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The girl shakes her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cOk. Jellyfish. They\u2019ve been around for millions of years,\u201d the grandmother says, \u201cThey bob along the black ocean like glowing bags, expanding, contracting, expanding contracting,\u201d she opens and closes her arthritic hand with effort when she says this.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cLike a firework!\u201d The girl responds, squeezing Bebe the shark.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cYes. And like a firework, some jellyfish light up and swim along like little explosions in seas that have bioluminescent plankton. Do you know what bioluminescence is?\u201d The grandmother asks the girl. She shakes her head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cIt\u2019s when tiny creatures in the ocean make their own light, like submerged stars,\u201d the grandmother says, \u201cNot everything that lives in the dark is bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cI like how that sounds. This is a good story,\u201d the girl says, sleepily, hypnotized by the grandmother\u2019s voice, deaf to the gunfire and glass-crunching outside. The girl\u2019s eyes begin to close.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cJellyfish have no brain, or spine. They\u2019re all nerves and water. Their tentacles are long, so long that they don\u2019t even know when they snare something and hurt it,\u201d the grandmother says, looking out at their shadows swimming in the dwindling warmth of the&nbsp;candlelight.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">\u201cIt\u2019s like that with people too sometimes. They drift on a current, all nerves and pain, snaring and stinging whatever gets caught in their undertow, poisoning others slow,\u201d she says, to oak-paneled walls, to the shadows, to her hands, to all the parts that remember this feeling.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The mother reaches out to the grandmother and squeezes her arm.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">They both look down at the girl, who snores lightly, buoyed by the thin, dark arms of the mother and the grandmother \u2013no, her mother, her grandmother. There is an affirmation in closing the trench and claiming them, even if the next sunrise isn\u2019t guaranteed\u2013 that cover her like a Teflon shell.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">The world outside shakes and continues to crumble in the long night of the final offensive.&nbsp;<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p style=\"font-size:20px\">But in the bedroom, the girl burrows deeper into dreams, where gunfights burst like a cerulean bioluminescent bloom and explosions in the night sky pass by like silent sea nettles diving deeper and deeper into the blackened sea.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">__________<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\"><strong>Alex McAnarney-Castro<\/strong> (A.M. Castro) is a Salvadoran American writer and human rights activist raised in Mexico City and San Salvador. For 15 years, she&#8217;s worked across Latin America and the U.S., and published non-fiction and fiction in LatineLit, Latin@ Literatures, Last Girls Club, Dark Harbor Magazine, A Sufferer\u2019s Digest, Oddessa Collective, Defunkt Magazine, and Trinty College\u2019s New Square Literary Magazine. She studied journalism, literature, and creative writing at Florida International University and received a Master\u2019s in Latin American Studies at the University of Chicago, with a focus on Medical Anthropology. In line with her studies, professional trajectory, and interests, much of her work explores how war, mass violence, memory, trauma, illness, and geography often shape and twist communities, families, and individuals. Currently, she live in Baton Rouge, Louisiana with her husband and dog Lola.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><strong>__________<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n<div class=\"wp-block-image\">\n<figure class=\"alignleft size-full\"><img loading=\"lazy\" decoding=\"async\" width=\"438\" height=\"211\" src=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg\" alt=\"\" class=\"wp-image-15484\" srcset=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1.jpg 438w, https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-content\/uploads\/sites\/37\/2024\/01\/boudin-logo-1-300x145.jpg 300w\" sizes=\"auto, (max-width: 438px) 100vw, 438px\" \/><\/figure>\n<\/div>\n\n\n<p class=\"has-text-align-center has-large-font-size\">\ud83e\udca0 <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/05\/21\/a-big-red-island\/\">Back<\/a> <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/2025\/05\/21\/ginsbergs-transient-domicile\/\">Next<\/a> \ud83e\udca1<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p class=\"has-medium-font-size\">To learn more about submitting your work to <em><a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/boudin-submissions\/\">Boudin<\/a><\/em> or applying to McNeese State University&#8217;s Creative Writing <a href=\"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/mfa-application-submissions\/\">MFA program<\/a>, please visit Submissions for details.<\/p>\n\n\n\n<p><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>Like Bursting Jellyfish Across the Neon Sea Alexandra McAnarney __________ When the first bomb goes off it\u2019s far enough away from home that it\u2019s easy to confuse for a stray thunder burst.&nbsp; The girl, who lies awake as she does most nights since she arrived back in the capital city with the mother, hears it,&hellip;<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":42,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[230,1],"tags":[75,42],"class_list":["post-19640","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-finding-home","category-uncategorized","tag-boudin","tag-hybrid"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19640","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/42"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=19640"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19640\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":19886,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/19640\/revisions\/19886"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=19640"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=19640"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.mcneese.edu\/thereview\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=19640"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}