Our future, the one we are living, was not inevitable. It was chosen. It is an ongoing choice.
True crime wants us to believe that our monsters are individual, not systemic—the errant serial killer rather than a violent and inequitable culture.
Her mother had never curved a cool hand around Marilinda’s cheek and promised, Mijita, your life will be swollen with love.
Something unexpected cracks me open every year: Tonight, it was my daughter, recognizing the name I’d given her because I couldn’t give her the woman herself.
In my frightened mind, so many people in my family had been reduced to that one word.