Fiction
The Smell of All Mothers
It was That Smell, that-so-familiar-one that hurt me not to remember where I’d smelled it before.
The Giant
It was here that Dad told me the story. I didn’t know where the story had come from, or how long he’d carried it inside him.
Skin Hunger
She, too, often felt she would die if she went without physical contact. She worried sometimes that this meant she was becoming one of them.
If You’re Waiting for a Sign
April says the people at church don’t talk to us because they’re motherfuckers.
You Do You
She updates the simple bio on her dating profile: “looking for nothing serious. I am really into knives. Really, really into knives, ask me about it.”
Venus Conjunct Saturn
Maybe it wasn’t that Angie wanted to break things off with Kate; she just didn’t know enough to decide if she wanted to keep going.
The Christmas Story
This time of year, there are so many people pretending excitement when they feel none.
Si Dios Quiere
Raul returns the greeting, always the same: by running his pointer finger over his throat in disapproval.
My Mother, an Ouroboros
Who were we? Puerto Ricans stuck in a drift, still moving from an American haunting howling on The Island, howling in us.