I typed the letter on a regular morning. But obviously, it was a courageous morning. I typed the letter in the dark because I had just woken up from a restless night. And restless nights have been typical for me. I live with nine other
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“Again! And sit up straight! You’re slouching.” Naledi repositioned herself on the stool in front of the piano. Her legs, dangling, were starting to go numb. As best as she could, she straightened her back, placed her fingers in position on the white keys, and began to play Für Elise from the beginning. She felt her fingers hit every note
As Bill Withers plays in the background about grandma’s hands, I look down at my
Shattering glass echoes in my ears, snapping my head up from my phone. Right across
As Bill Withers plays in the background about grandma’s hands, I look down at my own. I have my grandmother’s hands. They are small
“My name is Tavonne Carson. I’m six years old.” If she hadn’t said my name, I wouldn’t have believed the little girl calling from
Hair like strong twine, sweet like the harvest of a California grape vine, to stop the spread of your smile is the worst crime,
Trina, I need you to stay inside for recess today. You are a little Black girl in a world that’s White. You are a
It’s a typical spring morning – a slight chill, cloud cover, and the threat of rain. I can hear through my open window the
Short Stories
Shattering glass echoes in my ears, snapping my head up from my phone. Right across the street, the front window of Diaz’s Deli— the neighborhood bodega—lays in glistening shambles on the hot sidewalk. The store alarm blares out catching the attention of bystanders who simply stop, stare, and ultimately keep on their way. I hold my growling stomach as my
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We arrived with our gods, walked them into the soil and braided
Sometimes she thought it must be loneliness that made her see things.
SOUP: It is barely dawn, and the village of Layou is swallowed
“Let me know when it starts to burn,” Aunt Mimi would say,
midnight - The Black Speculative fiction issue
They were floating, flying in tandem, punctuated by the last of the year’s sunlight, perfectly together. Nothing could separate them. The voices of children,
On the first night the stars fell, the whole suburb rushed out of their beds and looked out their windows to see what kind
It was called “Tika Zika”. They gave us instructions to lock ourselves away from each other. No neighbors, friends, nothing–no matter what. My niece
When Sunduq was four she got stuck in the hope chest in her grandmother’s bedroom. Her family looked for her for hours, eventually calling
“Curse this damned place. I don’t want anything to do with here.” Holson, my best childhood friend, slammed the door and headed off on
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It’s a typical spring morning – a slight chill, cloud cover, and the threat of rain. I can hear through my open window the calm before the storm. The birds are quiet this morning. Drivers making their way down the narrow street
As a kid, I remember the subject of race coming up twice in our family. The first time was when my brother began checking out the white girls in his grade. The second was when I began checking boxes for race on
I need to remind myself that Mama is human, that she is not endless love, and food, and sacrifice. But she makes it hard to do. When I tell you I was raised Catholic, I mean I was raised by Mama: a
I was ten years old when I first witnessed domestic violence. It was a hot summer day on Hobart street. Children were playing; adults were sitting on their steps and porches just watching the day go by as we often did. Suddenly
“If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.” — Audre Lorde Dear Amaya, I waited so long for you. Well before your mother told me she was pregnant, I
Sometimes she thought it must be loneliness that made her see things. She could see the dark lord’s face peering down from the clock tower on top of the courthouse. His red eyes followed her. No matter how tightly she closed her
“Have you considered writing a book about your life?” It is likely someone has asked you this question, or maybe you have asked someone. Before my ancestry journey, I never thought of my life as interesting enough to manifest into spilled ink,
Today is our long day. We need to drive nearly 200 miles to cross state lines. Mom and I take shifts, plying the other with an endless stream of gritty Community Coffee and sleeves of Donette’s. I notice the minute we cross
