Outside, glass-blue sky and air-sucking heat, avocado arms reached up from saguaros with spiked, crimson-tipped ocotillo neighbors.
Outside, glass-blue sky and air-sucking heat, avocado arms reached up from saguaros with spiked, crimson-tipped ocotillo neighbors.
The earring is antique gold with garnets and seed pearls.
“Do you see that handsome man over there?”
Once the mail carrier left, I rushed to yank out the envelope.
The popcorn man stands on the same corner.
My mother-in-law looks fragile, her arms mottled from blood draws and IVs.
I hear it, or some variation, whenever I cut across the corner wedged between coffee shop, liquor store, and the yield running off Osborne Street to River Avenue.
On my first visit home to Barbados, I stayed with Mum and her sister Vi, aptly known as the widowed dragons.
A hundred naked young men sat on a concrete floor, my seventeen-year-old self included.
When my 16-year-old was getting ready to see his friends, a knot developed in my gut.
I sashay into the bathroom, humming an upbeat tune.
Tall but awkward, I have always loved playing basketball.
Multiple construction deadlines and a meeting in five minutes.
“Tell me a story,” I ask.
Teri Boland commanded two friends to chase after me during recess.
I opened the refrigerator and crawled inside.
Reading what Natasha inscribed on the new mug she made—Every time you learn something new, you become a better version of yourself—I learned something new about her.
The bell chides my lateness, coffee spills from my cup, and papers scatter to the floor.
You are the pepper shaker and I am a napkin.
I, Lekeila, run to dampen the flames as our spaceship hurtles toward the surface of the moon.