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This is our struggle. We scuttle on the sand before the softly breathing salt-burdened sea with the lichen on the rocks a bright poison green and great white butterflies screaming under a red sky while we dream of justice and watch the ghost of a long-extinct rat ancestor, an ancestrat if you please, you know the ones we mean, the toothy ones wh...
—for Rory Cooney It’s July 23, 4:17 p.m., and I’m box-breathing like my life depends on it. My forehead is pressed against the door of the meeting room of the […]
It was all the gossip in the marshlands when the youngest wife of the Hisanha chain brought home a young man from upriver. The young man, whose name was Aigistha, […]
Abuelita has been feeding me her memories. Yesterday, it was the time she trudged up the mountain carrying a basketful of offerings for Pachamama (flowers, incense, a llama sculpted out of animal fat and adorned with gold leaf) in hopes the Earth Mother would alleviate the drought ruining the harvest. Today, it’s the time she visited Tío Roberto...