That night I dreamt of Ana for the first time, drinking double the blood potion concocted by her loving husband, Elcana.
When Peterson and Pillai drenched their mighty, South Asian bodies in their very own glitter, I smiled to myself, satisfied.
It was already dead; the fish was fighting the inevitable. Maybe it was impulse, some animal instinct will to live.
“To create dangerously is to create a revolt against silence.”
We’re not ‘misbehaving’. We’re in a space they regard as theirs. We don’t need permission to enter. That’s what scares them.
Not long ago the rain was joy.
It strikes him that this woman in the kitchen barely resembles Ma. Too small, too frail. Almost harmless.
Nazis in broad daylight were intimidating and verbally attacking residents, and police did nothing at all.
y’all were always so quiet
forgetting it was sylvia and marsha who started this fight
you debate your reflection
stare straight and await the latest
collection of imperfections