Her mouth opens at sunrise. A giant centipede crawls out and writhes down the path to the street, along the curb; its legs brush against the shoe of a boyfriend waiting in line…

In remembrance of George Floyd / Minneapolis, I am learning there is no intercession from flames or any ash bound cinder celebrating the mural before the man, a rain-soaked teddy bear wilts…

Her mother planted the bathtub-sized flower bed with watermelon-red begonias, bright yellow and magenta snapdragons, and dark orange marigolds. But the flowers she…

Warning: Statistical table ahead. Kathunk! I hear hearts drop; I know we are story-telling creatures. But the nation crunches (us to) numbers. Dear reader, stay with me.

Raíces (Roots), 2019, by Saskia Jorda. “ In this work, I cast in plaster my grandmothers’ feet alongside my own feet….their stories are defined by the steps they have taken from one