Memento Mori

Remember the melting world, burning into frog soup like a lullaby, so slowly we hardly know we are not just falling asleep.



RECENTLY PUBLISHED


photo of a smiley face made out of candy

American Smile

I clenched my teeth, seething at this age-old American innocence, the belief that at the end of the day, Americans meant well and, really, that ought to be enough. Enough to claim the perch of fame, the pedestal of saviors.


photo of a silhouette of a seagull flying over the ocean at sunrise

Sweet Dreams

FEAR, the most horrible and barbaric fear. It had talons and wings and bore its fangs into each of us. It bled out veins. It was parasitic . . .


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.