“The Exchange”     He holds my baby, his tattooed fists clenched around her waist, keeping her close to his chest. He watches me walk towards him. He can see I am shivering. He doesn’t Read more…

Church arrangements   I don’t see my mother, in her arrangement, sitting quietly as it does, behind the pulpit, like a good pastor’s wife, careful not to draw too much attention, to itself. “It’s the Read more…

In my defense   It felt like the walk to the judge’s chambers. Every step an argument for the defense, every irregular heartbeat a witness for the prosecution. Back and forth. Back and forth, until Read more…