My whole adult life, I’ve believed that immigration is everyone’s story. Trace a family back far enough and you’ll find people who left their home
I noticed the tubing first, a line of plastic dangling below the hem of her shirt. We’d been talking for a while by then, about
I wonder if you’re like me. When I pull into a parking lot I visit often, I aim for the same few spaces. When one
I want to tell you about a man I didn’t know well—or not well enough, it turns out. We met the way people do in
There is a pair of African violets on my windowsill, both saved from death with two salvaged leaves. One has been tended properly, moved to
After weeks of letting the decision ripen, like stinky cheese, I decided it was time to show them I really meant business, or more
“I’m going to have to deal with some of these guys soon,” my husband says after a cadre of squirrels makes quick work of
It started with the lady in the red pickup. White hair like a full-fledged dandelion, or maybe a freshly groomed poodle, head just peeking over
I shall gather myself into myself again, I shall take my scattered selves and make them one, Fusing them into a polished crystal ball Where
Lare* and I cross paths for the first time in Security, he painting a smile across a sideways remark about livestock, me hoping the freezer