“Für Naledi: The Piano Lesson”

“Again! And sit up straight! You’re slouching.” Naledi repositioned herself on the stool in front…

“Parasite”

“Go back to Jamaica? You must be crazy! What would I do out there except…

Once A Mother

I watched from my seat in the sparsely populated bleachers as the swimmers began to…

short stories & essays by Black women writers

midnight & indigo is a new literary platform connecting readers to digital + print content featuring our stories in our voices.

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I Used to Love Myself

I don’t remember how old I was when my parents bought the brown metallic closet…

“Akinyi”

“Akinyi, you are such a good girl! Eh! Did you make these mandazi’s yourself?” Akinyi…

Namesake

I climbed the stairs to Aunt Tee’s apartment. The hallway was dark but the semi-opened blinds let in a hint of sunlight on the second-floor landing. The burgundy carpet was clean, other…

SHORT STORIES

“Radical Wombs”

I’ve been dreaming. In my dreams, my sisters sit in circle formation, our legs crossed after a long day of picking okra. We laugh and cry with one another. We share secrets…

“one less one mo (clara belle’s blues)”

“I’ll be damned if anybody beat me again, tellin me I’m ugly and worthless. What’s family? I don’t need you or your bullshit. That’s what I told them when I left. I…

“Marjani’s Gift”

The leaves on the two maple trees in the yard beamed a spectacular fiery red as the blue bottles that hung from them shimmered under the late afternoon sun. It was an…

midnight & indigo literary journal for black writers
“Aida”

The Solomon family car is small and green and was bought from a used lot seventeen years ago. It is not equipped for long drives. So the Solomons walked, or biked, or…

NARRATIVE ESSAYS

midnight and indigo literary journal for black writers
The Motherbaby

My daughter is black. Skin like turned earth. Eyes the color of midnight. A black freckle on the underside of her wrist matches mine and another just to the left of her…

midnight and indigo literary journal for black writers
In Remembrance of Fast Girls

They built a church on the land where my body was broken. Parishioners come every Sunday morning believing it to be holy ground. Yet I know this to be the ground where…

midnight and indigo literary journal for black writers
Everything is Beautiful and Everything is Terrible

My mother’s eyes are bulging, glassy and wild, almost spinning in their sockets with fear. Her cracked lips are pulled back from her teeth, which snap viciously. She is warning an invisible…

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