Falling Days

If upward progress is a romantic idea we try to build our lives around, then so too are falling, celerity, this wild and fickle freedom.



RECENTLY PUBLISHED


photo of an old, rusted, 1960s truck with scrap metal on its bed

Injury

There is no accident at the core of this so-called “essay.” Ok, there is, but it’s not what you think.


colored pencil drawing of a scapula and clavicle

CLAVICLE

I’ve classified myself and shaped my worth by my bones, by the skeletons of the people I used to be, and by the bodies of the people who left their marks on me.


photo of a dry, dead orange tree bearing dozens of oranges on its branches

The Orange Tree

Slaves, who did not volunteer to board the ships of chains and salts, and whose legacy casts a shadow much longer and darker than the fern, are not physically in this photo, yet their contribution is loud.


Tastes They Left

L. was a secret. You can’t know anything about him, except maybe that he stole a lot of coffee from Pret A Manger.


photo of a dark street during a blackout with people milling about

The Blackout

Soon today will be absorbed into all of those other days. And these words into oblivion.


A Guide To Tropical Seed Saving

I told her how a coconut will sit patiently, waiting for the summer rains to soak the ground beneath it so that it can begin life again. Some of them will shrivel up in the absence of water, their insides hollow as a drum.