The VCR The day has come. Mama and Papa brung the box in the house. Me and Yannie are upstairs listening to Thriller for like the 10th time and we
I can name every note of the sweet pea’s scent. Like most girls, from a young age, the delicate beauty
Auntie Cee was a real boss, a Human Resources specialist with swag back when Black women were ghosts in corporate
“Here I come, slowpoke!” Even though she was behind me, I could tell Tonya was
Autumn, 1978. The Jonestown massacre had just splashed across the nation’s newspapers, and my mother
Hey, hey, hey! You’ve reached the phenomenally favored and fantastic ______! It is her mantra
I never saw Nanny cry. Not even when her humble, eat-off-the-floor-clean basement apartment flooded repeatedly.
when i was just a little girl… …my paternal grandma taught me to cook what
The last time my mother broke my heart, my brother and his college friends had
For as long as I can remember, my great-grandmother never let a night go by
Clutching three rotten apples in a single hand, she stood at the screen door and
It was a terribly hot September. Though it drizzled now and then, the thick stagnant
What did it mean for a black woman to be an artist in our grandmothers’
Visiting my grandfather in North Carolina was nothing short of a civic wonderland. Before my
It wasn’t easy growing up so far away from close family. All of my mother’s
The VCR The day has come. Mama and Papa brung the box in the house.
“You were ashes.” As I stood in the doorway of my sister Everette’s bedroom just
Thousand Oaks, California I flew from coast to coast when I was nine years old.
