Sometimes my hope is a pebble in my shoe, imprinting into my sole. When it shows up like this, I snap at the sky, threatening the clouds. I think it might be heavy enough to sink me, but it never does: it quickens me, slows me. Makes me think about where I put my weight and why. Sometimes my hope is a pebble in my … Continue reading 100 / sedimentary
Climb out of the Pacific Ocean, where fake islands crown a shore, and a dead boat floats bloated in the distance. Walk four blocks away from the waves. Ask any of my nieces. They’ll open their hands, read their palms, find me in a wrinkle that roots to their heart lines. Blindfold my mother and tell her I am hungry. Fill her hands with parathas … Continue reading 100 . five directions to me
When I was little, Mamasaur would cry at commercials. Though it didn’t make a lick of sense to me then, now I flood with tears even during the finale of the Great British Bake Off. I wonder who was the original template for this inheritance. My mother or hers? Or a mother before? Did she live before television, before radio, before books? Did she tear-drip … Continue reading 100 / watching
Don’t take my fire: the ancestral flame that sheds so much light on bloodshed that we all can see our feet-stain. Don’t take my colors: the ones I pulled from the rainbow and stitched to my bones, the ones learning to love their spectrum, their beginning, their infinity. Don’t take my salt: the sunken truth that rises from the dirty ocean and follows you like … Continue reading 100 / a deal
rarasaur 