The soft calling of birds stirs you awake again, a morning lullaby that lures you to action instead of a gentle sleep. The sun seeps into the blinds, dazzling you in streams of light. You run your hands against the orange wool blanket beside you that waits there now because it’s been three hours since […]
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Any relationship, she thinks, is like watching the images surface on a developing Polaroid. [...] Lately, it seems as if most of their conversations are held either through or about the cats.
“Your Power doesn’t define who you are,” she said the night we met at the Happy Flamingo, a straw floating on its side in her daiquiri.
I go into the water and I wonder if the fear I feel is lesser or greater than the fear of my ancestors.
Every morning we opened our eyes, expecting to see ourselves in [ ], the low valley of our birthplace. In other words, the beginning.
