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  • Nonfiction > Personal Experience
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    I never liked visiting my grandmother’s house, it smelled like mildew and old age and her two cats left their hairs everywhere. I can recall spending long hours sitting on the swing on her front porch, rocking slowly back and forth, back and forth, wondering when we’d leave. I didn’t complain ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    The take off is all right, my feet hit where they’re supposed to, I have the right trajectory. But I’m scared, I’m scared before I even get on the beam. I over rotate on purpose, landing on my knees. I swallow hard, I can’t do this. Bao is standing at the end of my beam. He doesn’t look ...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    I open the box. It’s not something you do in my house anymore. You don’t open boxes, or look at pictures or blow the dust off the covers of old photo albums. Instead you pretend not to see. In the kitchen you act like you don’t see his empty chair, when you walk into the living room you pret...
  • Fiction > All Fiction
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    April 16th, 1801 The little boy has already asked his mother about the stone. She told him it wasn’t a stone, it was a seed. The boy knows what you do with seeds, he watches his father and brother in the fields. He chooses the spot carefully, a bare patch of earth, slightly damp, but not too we...

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