The shop was small, tucked away underneath an apartment building on Sixth Avenue. I ducked my head as I walked down the steps, and a small bell chimed as I stepped out of the frosty wind.
The summer before college, Sarwat moved to Texas. It was a small miracle that she was able to convince them to stay put through the end of high school. Her parents wasted no time packing up after graduation.
Six months later, with a lump in her belly, she was on her way to California. When they arrived, they were met with the sea breeze and high tax rates. While she was out working, he was inside drinking, an unorthodox contortion of the American dream.
James calculated that the farthest he wanted to go was four hours by car. Eight hours of driving roundtrip. After his parents left for their fall conferences, he could hit the road.
I remember burying the seeds every time I ate an apple. They never grew into apple trees. I remember going to the airport for fun.
I remember, on Thompson Street, the moment they called the 2020 presidential race. I remember the way my childhood home smelled when it was completely empty.
"I have felt within Venezuela throughout my entire life while spending all of my twenty outside of it. In an attempt to finally understand what happened to the beautiful country in my mother’s stories, I begin to ask questions and start memorizing her recipes."
"There isn’t much relevant about the island, other than it was a mass of concrete and metal. It could have been Tokyo, Alcatraz, or even Los Angeles, and not much would change. It was an island, close to the water, but blooming with unnatural creation. It was difficult to grapple with."
“During our visit to South Africa, my greatest test came when the rest of the group and I were blessed with a street performance of Zulu war dances.” Poems.