Fleshly Odysseys — MICHAEL H. KEW
By Michael H. Kew Supine on the soft grass encircling my guesthouse, a rickety old Niuean home, my ears prick to a neighbor’s television—a game show, perhaps, or a raucous film. The faint tinniness is extrinsic to the dull thump of falling coconuts and the chirp of crickets tickling the silken