They do not know that girls become teenagers become girls again. That girl, this girl. Charlie, Fatima. Girls who smoke fake cigarettes in attics and then real cigarettes on porches. Girls who cut Barbie hair and then real hair, who …
Fiction
Reaching for Ijenu
Maria, a woman from my age grade, takes the condolence messages on my behalf, and makes sure that everyone eats kola and has something chilled to drink.
“She is resting.” Her voice confronts someone who must have been making their …
I Know You, Rider
She made the decision to lock him in there, and maybe that wasn’t the right thing to do, but her horse was cast, kicking fervently against the wall of the stable, rolling his black hair against the mulch and craning …
Back
My dad couldn't reach the middle of his back. He waxed every part of his stocky, thick body--and then I hopped in at the end to get the patch between his shoulder blades. It became part of our Sunday afternoon routine.
The Moth-Child
She was a marvel: bones thin and brittle, organs misshapen, skin with a cast of gray. Most shocking, of course, were her wings. Not real wings, the local newspaper said, but wing-like protrusions—things that looked like wings but weren’t. Alongside …
Smoke
Aunt May wanted a cigarette, so I sighed myself up and rolled her oxygen tank away. I knocked it against the door frame on purpose. Then I fell back onto the couch, where I watched the smoke float upward, …
Southern Living
Have you ever been somewheres, and there was people speakin’ the names of those you thought was dead, and some of those names belonged to you?
“Rhonda, Rhonda, Rhonda.” And there it is.
Before Hurricane Sally spanked me all …
Calcification
Mother won’t let me eat the bones even though they’re soft enough.
You’ll calcify, she says. The doctor’s lab results report that calcium has already built up in my organs, a stone nestled between blood vessels, a tiny fossil deposit …
Look Don’t Touch
I think of my mother on the train. Nichola and I are seated in the last row of the Metro-North on our way home to Larchmont, huddled together as though we’re trying to hide. Nichola rests against my shoulder. Sunlight …
When it rains
It was night. And then it was day. And Mama became the sun.
She never looked so happy. Gliding through the house. Gospel music blasting. Spinning into dances I didn’t recognize.
Her voice vibrated with a rhythm of her making.…
