It’s 1989 and, before Hurricane Hugo hits, the jungles of Puerto Rico are vibrant and loud. The snakes hiss, the birds chirp, and the frogs, las ranas, those wonderful coquís, they sing proudly on the…
Browsing Category Prose, Poetry, and Art
“to mukethe” and “notjustyet notjustyet”
to mukethe come listen to the wind with me. those gulf storms are still blowing residual gusts east, only so much that it’s a nightlong pleasant rattle on the bedroom’s flimsy windows; not enough to…
For the Blood of Me
The month wanes. Soon my mother will make sure I swallow three shredded dates daily, for the blood of me. I say: no can’t you see it’s a chore to dig them out, tongue on…
How Stories Get Lost
When I teach, I have students read to the class about a significant event in their lives. One young woman said she didn’t mind being locked in the cellar with her older brothers, but she…
Strange Features
I’m the type to go unseen in the world. I’m the milk of women. —Ellen Welcker Once while boarding a train Marilyn Monroe turned to a friend and said Do you want to see me…