Articles

Her mother tells her she was born smooth, hairless, like a doll, except for a little tuft of baby hair that lay upright at the top of her head, and that she stayed hairless because she was a pretty girl, not like her older sisters, who were peludas, who grew up to be covered in …

Tap. Tap. Tappity tappity tap. Nap pried his head from the desk as 4:28 AM bounced around the computer screen. He sighed and wiped drool off his face with a t-shirt that’d been lying on the ground. Tip tap tappy tap tappity tippity tap. “Goddammit, I’m coming,” he muttered as he drew back the curtain. …

The fluorescent yellow of the DO NOT FEED WILDLIFE sign glared at me from under a streetlamp as I walked to the dumpster. The yellow seemed to follow me, trailing long streaks in the damp asphalt under my sneakers. It couldn’t be helped though- the raccoons demanded an offering. And why shouldn’t they? We all …

Alejandra arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Airport and went through immigration. A uniformed man looked at her passport with suspicion and checked her backpack as if it contained some illicit drug.  All the bigger than life spaces and atriums, all the white mesmerized her.  She could not believe that she had escaped. Only a few weeks before, …

Australian Department of Home Affairs Application ID: 0002339445DISCLAIMER: BY APPLYING FOR THIS VISA, YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THAT NOTHING YOU SAY IN THIS APPLICATION IS UNTRUE. ANY FALSE STATEMENTS WILL IMMEDIATELY RENDER YOUR APPLCIATION VOID AND COULD AMOUNT TO A SERIOUS CRIMINAL OFFENCE. DO YOU WISH TO CONTINUE?[x] I acknowledge the disclaimer and wish to continue.PART I: …

“No están picando. Not even a nibble.” “Dad, how many times have I told you not to speak Spanish?” my daughter said in a hushed tone. “Yes, Yes, I know, but it’s just you and me here.” “Somebody could be listening, dad. You never know where there are microphones and even cameras these days.” “Okay, …

“Reflections and Projections”Medium: Oil Paint on Canvas Artist Statement: I began these paintings as a way of processing my grief, my inherited grief, where did this start, where does it come from?   Exploring the intergenerational impacts of my grandmother’s suicide from the perspective of a granddaughter who never met her, exploring and building a narrative using secondary sources, …

Let my father bea man who loved me poorly which means he loved me.Some stories we tell ourselves when we need to sleep and some we tell whenwe need to stay awake. Both of them may be true. This is the duplicity. But did he love me? This is what I am attemptingto discover. I …

I am not the brain in the mouth, she whispered so quietly she could barely feel her lips utter lullabies to her small daughter drifting into sleep underneath a mound of blankets. I am not to utter, to understand, to wetware an existence. To hold the fingertips carefully. The children carefully rubbed blood from puddles …

She is the pinnacle of wrenching the last crumbed teardrop out of the cereal box upon waking. I want more silky light that is mothering light that drips over my body as I rise out of the bed and make all of this work. Make half a life matter to the rest of the decades …