I was quiet. I was able to be quiet. My sister more than made up for my absence of audible response to every situation. . .
The strange woman at my door holds a knife and a fork. Her cutlery is sharp. She smells of raw oysters. A bag hangs over her shoulders . . .
Jack had been living the good life for a long while but still hadn’t made it out of the day to day dealings his position demanded of him . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Pressure Makes Diamonds: Becoming the Woman I Pretended to Be
- Iron Balloons: Hit Fiction From Jamaica’s Calabash Writer’s Workshop
- Praise Song for the Butterflies
- Changers Book Two: Oryon
- Home: Social Essays
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Sita)
- May Digit
- The Game Don’t Change
- God Carlos
- Confessions of a Ex-Doofus-ItchyFooted Mutha
- Gathering of Waters
- Sale Amiri Baraka 3-for-1 Sale!