From the Print

Company

Les just sit togeddah, we talk story.
Bum by Aunty sing a song, but fo now goin talk story.
Bout a beudeeful girl who wen bump her hed, jus like you.

Ghetto Ritual

“For Protection” he says smearing goop across my forehead. My father is a sculptor, And I am the wax figure he created. With the help of his rough working hands, On my face, he layers-on a sheet of Vaseline. Staring…

Simone (“Poupette”) Alizon

1 Poupette was no coquette, no French flirt. At seventeen she pedaled her velo from one end of Paris to the farther other, delivering news of the Résistance to the Résistance. Brave, yes. Foolish? Perhaps not— A pretty girl who…

What We Were

When the last ship vanished into the sky, afterburners flickering briefly in the dense black cloud ceiling that shrouded our world, there were fires. There were more of us then, and we poured, angry, through the streets, a human pyroclastic…

Pasado’s Grave

For once, we aren’t late. The kids keep asking me if we are, but I am able to assure them, we are fine, we’re right on time. I know this place. We just need to park in the big lot…