The rain stops now and I shake my head to fling the last drop off my big straw hat. It have a freezing trickle of water running down my arm, a silver ball escaping down to the tip of my finger. Forest rain does be like that: cold in the humidity, shining like hell when the light touch it . . .
Tag: Tamarind Mouth Comes Home
Featured: Black Interest
- The Angels’ Share
- Home: Social Essays
- May Digit
- Revolutionary Threads: Rastafari, Social Justice, and Cooperative Economics
- Tales of the Out & the Gone
- Caught Up
- An Unkindness of Ghosts
- So Many Islands: Stories from the Caribbean, Mediterranean, Indian, and Pacific Oceans
- Party: A Mystery
- Bronx Biannual Issue No. 2: The Literary Journal of Urbane Urban Literature
- What Is Hip-Hop?
- Iron Balloons: Hit Fiction From Jamaica’s Calabash Writer’s Workshop