Adela sits at her desk in the Kingston parliament building, which looks like a Moorish palace. . .
Tag: Duppy Thursday
I held a glass of champagne in my hand and stood alone under the dark night sky. . .
It used to be so. Playing dead to catch Corbeau alive. Every day started with the Our Father.
“I’m sorry.” It was a simple statement, filled with honesty and sadness, but truth was evident in the man’s voice . . .
Tina knew she shouldn’t have gone to that party with Robert . . .
I gave you my own name, and we shared it for fourteen days . . .
The Mayfair was over, the lights turned off, the bran tub emptied, the decorations taken down and locked in cupboards safely. The bouncy castle stood still, awaiting the workmen who would remove it tomorrow. The gates to the schoolyard were shut, and the sentry assumed duty. No one saw the boy in black . . .
My son saw women peel their skin from their bones and burn their bodies out like cane fire before bed . . .
Featured: Black Interest
- Black Marks
- Iron Balloons: Hit Fiction From Jamaica’s Calabash Writer’s Workshop
- Loving Donovan
- New-Generation African Poets: A Chapbook Box Set (Nne)
- Kingston Noir (Jamaica)
- An Unkindness of Ghosts
- The Game Don’t Change
- The System of Dante’s Hell
- Not for Everyday Use
- A Simple Distance
- I Love You Too