When the young soucouyant first realised there was a baby growing in her, she held the thought in her head tightly, boxing it in the same way you might wrap a pastelle: fold one side over and seal before folding the other side . . .
The moon rose this night as it had done in the days, months, and years before, as it would tomorrow and the night after that if life remained, but this night was different.
I suppose I should’ve listened to my Gramoon when she scolded me with her old sayings.
Q: [tapping the photograph] Where’s the little girl? Where’s Anisa Quashie?
A: We do not know Anisa Quashie.
Celebrate Black History Month with sales from Akashic.
When I was younger, visiting my aunt’s house was an adventure.
Tommy was pointing out the sights of Montego Bay, shouting to be heard above the rumble of the boat’s engine as it navigated out of the crowded harbor, but Deb wasn’t listening…
As usual, Deadman has left me a car at the airport, and, for the first time since Irma hit, I bump along the rutted streets of Road Town.