My body never belonged to me. It belonged to birthing pains and bloodstains, entry and
My 10th grade English Lit teacher cannot pronounce my name. Ironic? I know. So, on
Part I: Just For Me I look forward to the tri-annual ritual. My mother prepares
“If y’all weren’t so difficult, maybe it’ll be easier to get a man.” “Y‘all? Difficult?”
The day Chiamaka disappeared, her father left the house in precisely three pieces. The first
It is 2014. You are a Nigerian living in the United States. You are the
I. Places that I am terrified of returning to: Shitty $49-a-night motels with dingy sheets
“I love your hair. You did it yourself?” “Aww, thank you. I wish. I can’t
“Then [Noah] sent out a raven, which kept going to and fro until the waters
Hair like strong twine, sweet like the harvest of a California grape vine, to stop
“My name is Tavonne Carson. I’m six years old.” If she hadn’t said my name,
The girl you ask to dinner will never show you her true face. Her deep,
I guess I’ve been an art historian, informally I’d say I’ve always “geeked out over
I hear my student say that word and I’m not surprised. I knew this student
“Good lord, girl. You swelling!” The girl looked down at her belly, then beyond it
