Ink Thick as Blood
Even though Japan had annexed Okinawa twenty years before she was born, Haa-mee’s generation never thought of themselves as Japanese. And though Japan banned tattooing, many families continued the practice in secret.
Husband Swept Away at Sea
And the strong waves of the sea swept him away in minutes with the debris of the boat, his cries ringing in your ears. Somehow you made it to shore.
Men Who Get It
I’m not attracted to him. At least… I don’t think I am. I spent a few formative summers at conversion camp. Daily prayers. Ice baths with shards so sharp it’d cut any temptation right out.
One of Those Summer Nights
Then, the noise started. Guns screamed. Humans screamed. Animals screamed. The kid didn’t know which side the screaming guy was on. He learned that dying men scream alike. He was scared. He was embarrassed by his fear, but he couldn’t help it.
The Visitor
If my mother had her way today, I would be with her at the market or sipping tea with wives and daughters of military men. But I find solace in Machiavelli and Dante, the speeches of Azikiwe, the discourse of men.
A Voice Note from Johannesburg
In the excitement of our meeting, we did not exchange numbers when we parted. Then the light faded and so did he, into the Johannesburg shadows, a cold Jozi night.
Fufu, Sardines, and Tomato Sauce
A world-class meal. It tasted like red soil, dry seasons and warm climates. It tasted like cousins’ daily fights and late afternoon reconciliations. It tasted like Grandma sitting on her plastic chair watching us from the corner of her veranda. It tasted like heaven.
Note from Nonpeople
I come from Nowhere. It has been told to me many times, by many authorities, and government officials, and all sorts of serious people in their decent suits. I see no reason to doubt them. I’d rather doubt your logic.
Blooming
She had created something beautiful — at least, to a fresh eye she was sure it would be, but to her these bloated buds were decay even when bursting into bloom, in that moment when they were all potential and wonder.
France Isn’t a Racist Country
“Hey, can you come in and audition for Suburban Arabic Girl Number Four? Basically, you’re with your homies in the subway, and you make a fuss, start yelling at people, throwing things around!”
Sometimes We Dream
Our grandparents sit us down and teach us where we come from: Africa, enslavement, Jim Crow. Our parents tell us where it’s safe to travel and where our brown skin makes us targets. Fear infects our dreams.
Memory/I send myself
Slow, within the quiet pupil of the noisy scuffle the message arrives, and lands: You don’t know me. You’ve only heard about me. I know myself; I know my self. I re-member.
Hate Speech
“My Dad doesn’t know that your Dad’s Black; he thinks you’re Mexican, so it’ll be okay.”
Sunday Mornings
My momma, who woke up before the roosters crowed and before the early birds tickled worms from the earth, was always the last person ready.
A Striking Space
The paintings appeared like bruises fading in and out in their intensity. Eleanor had worn long sleeves for years and made it her job to inhale her husband’s fits of anger.
I Come to You by Chance
When these words find a place close to you, I hope you hand them an axe to cut through your doors. I hope it breaks through your windows. I hope it gives you sunshine, air, and all the feels to stay open.
A Post-Apartheid Education for Girls
In school we learnt a great deal about Voortrekkers and spear formations, but we never learnt about what Black men went through during Apartheid, and how they left behind women who raised children in poverty and despair — alone.
Desi
Rain splattered across the window pane. It thwacked hard as a sheen shrouded the glass. Mensa peered across at the dense foliage dripping outside with August globules, leaf blades ripe with gossamer as lightning flashed.
Miscarried Dreams
I often observe my mother’s blank face. I wonder in what alternate universe her dreams would have become reality and what she would have had to sacrifice in the process.
Monarch
In the evening, when everyone came back from working in the fields, after dinner was eaten and dishes washed, we sat around to watch I Love Lucy in English and eat blush-colored grapefruits and mangos the color of Mojave sunsets.
The Divine
Wheelchairs provide freedom — however individual and/or limited by inaccessibility — to many disabled people. And insofar as divine beings represent or create freedom for some people, it felt appropriate to me to portray a god in/as a wheelchair.
The Road
The pattern of sounds was the only way the children could determine when to cross. Standing on the far end of the road. Looking over the railings. Timing the moment in which they would need to dash.
the Decolonial Passage 