They hadn’t been to this part of Connecticut in forty years, not since their undergrad days after the war. The geography looked different from the car window: the hills flatter, the river thinner, the clouds stringy when once they had …Read More
He doesn’t lock the mask every rehearsal. There are some days I say, I can’t, not today, not for all those hours. Attached to the mask is a rope that sways down my back and dangling from the rope …Read More
Anton de Kom (1898–1945) was a Surinamese political activist and author of the 1934 book We Slaves of Suriname, the first decolonial account of the nation’s history. He lived in The Hague and was married to Petronella Borsboom, …Read More
I was living in a box room in a two up, two down in a northern town. Each day I would walk to work at the café, past a nun who pushed a mower across a tiny, withered strip of …Read More
Before our company disappeared, we worked in an old three-story house in Shanghai. Every time I stepped on the aged floor it would make a squeaky, poignant sound as if the original owners’ ghosts were still wandering. I used to …Read More
The dulse lay dry and ample on the flats beside the sea, and the tall girl’s mother had caught a tenday’s worth of mackerel, but the tall girl was still sad.
“What’s wrong?” asked the tall girl’s mother, holding a …Read More
I attended two different schools after primary school. At one of them, there were lots of strange occurrences: a body was once found by the school’s main door, which opened onto the cluster of houses built into the hillside to …Read More
Always, the light from the holes in the aluminum roof woke Namanya. After a moment of nothingness, she felt the ache in her back, turned in bed, and came to herself. Her back was urging her to stop bending over …Read More
I buried the dirt into the ground . . .
I’m just going along when the memory hits me. My younger brother waving
his hand is so vivid . . .
Waving his hand in the direction