The Granary
This past November, I was a visitor in a house with many presences: a mouse in the ceiling, ladybug colonies in the doorframe, accumulations and whispers in the hollow of the wall.
-
Read -
Readlike [my] mother, like me
If the bath is a womb, the shower is a river, a rain. Distance between droplets makes a better clean, not deep, but a clearing. -
ReadA Legacy of Stuff
There’s a legacy of stuff passed through my family, especially on my father’s side. -
ReadMoses’ Ear
I had thought I was alone. A familiar scent of bleach and black coffee hung suspended in the warm air of my childhood kitchen. -
ReadDispatches from the Richmond Uprising
Before we leave Virginia, the doctor calls us from his home. -
ReadConfessions to My Ancestors
Confession: I don’t know my ancestors’ names. Also: my Mandarin is lousy. I have never been to our ancestral village. -
ReadHow to Deprogram a Parent in 7 Easy Steps
Do you have an elderly parent who has fallen victim to internet conspiracy theories? -
ReadSmoke Screens
The week the pandemic hits, I break my lease in Little Haiti and drive fifteen hours up the I-95 to be with my parents. -
ReadThose People
In 1996, the year my mother died of a heroin overdose, Purdue Pharma started to sell OxyContin in the United States. -
ReadIf I Had Known Then That Casey and Rhian Were Both Terrible Pieces of Shit, Puberty Would Have Been Way More Fun
We’re all on the grassy patch of land east of Christ the King, our school, with our uniform plaid skirts hiked, wearing way too much lip-gloss and not enough deodorant. -
ReadLittle House in the Big Pandemic
At night, when Laura lay awake on her memory foam mattress, she listened and could not hear anything at all. -
ReadAn Origin Story
I could talk your ear off about the current state of Mexican-American literature. -
ReadTo My Father, on the One-Year Anniversary of His Death
I am standing at the ironing board, running a hot iron over a folded and stitched-together strip of quilting cotton to make bias tape.
