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Syncopation
Continue reading: SyncopationBig band music makes her think of gin, makes her drink the gin, makes her wonder if this state is a cliché like bitterness or a human condition like sadness. But she realizes the label doesn’t matter because it is within her and others like her, and there is no sense in denying that, because…
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Ha’penny Dreadfuller
Continue reading: Ha’penny DreadfullerThe coyote stopped at the edge of the well, a warning rumbling in her throat. On the way up the hill, her entire body telegraphed a change in the air. The smell of decay pulsed in her nostrils, and her tail was working overtime, whiplashing the flies from the furless patches of skin on her…
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Beirut, Beirut
Continue reading: Beirut, BeirutIf New York is the city that never sleeps, Beirut is the city that never stops smoking. The scent is everywhere—fragrant, like the flavored argileh emitted from the hookahs in cafes and bars, or ashy, like the Winstons, Marlboros, and Cedars that droop from the mouths of shopkeepers and cabbies and are waved like sabers…
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Drinking the Moon Through the Neck of a Bottle
Continue reading: Drinking the Moon Through the Neck of a BottleAn excerpt from the graphic novel THE PARISH: an Americorps Story (Beating Windward, June 2015)
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Bride
Continue reading: BrideI am not a bad person. I told my mom and sister I needed some air. Mom was ironing the folds on the full skirt of my wedding gown. The smell of bacon wafted through the cramped house as I walked downstairs into the kitchen, where Gwen and my brother-in-law were arguing. I sighed and…