A breeze. The sun sat high enough to burn my skin, but sitting under the thick branches and leaves of my grandpa’s orange tree protected me. A shade thick enough to withstand the glare of the sun. If I closed …
New Essay
Trans Icons from the Farm
I’m all read up on Frans de Waal and Temple Grandin, long since well-convinced of animal consciousness. Herein I contend their ontologies too are more complicated than we give due for. Nature simplifies, yes, but does not flatten.
Out on …
The Days Have Shed Their Names, March 27th, 2020
I’m here, there, shuffling from the living room to the kitchen.
What’s a living room? We do our living here? Ok, fine. Let’s say we do. My slippers scuff, scuff, scuff because I don’t bother with shoes too much now. …
Children of the Stones
“‘Children of the Stones,’ that’s what they called us.” I am sitting with one of the children of the first Palestinian Intifada. Now he is a man with some grey hair on the sides of his head.
Back in 1987, …
This Time
From The Integrator, 1968.
I picture Baldwin Hills, Los Angeles, through the stories my mom’s told me. Wealthy and multiracial, with black and white and Chinese families living together. An uneasy harmony in 1968. My mom took me to …