creative writing
-
Her
I’ve grown an extra set of eyes just to catch the shadow in her walk. Micro-managed every detail of her smile, every light in her footsteps, and every scar in her heart. I stalk her intentions and pick out pieces of glass that may have found themselves in her thoughts when the levees poured over… Continue reading
-
Sky
Who can regret the wind’s chill and the smell of the air in the spring when the sun sets? I love it when the heavens bleed crimson with splashes of leftover daylight prophesying hints of yellow like screaming oracles; burnt orange clouds cementing inside the belly of the sky. I love the way birds defy… Continue reading
-
Don’t Box Me In
I come from a place where twitching mouths and search for the white stuff on the floor is protocol. A place where the White Gods ruled, food stamps sacrificed to glass pipes and crack is the answer to every question and yet, I don’t plan to leave any of them behind. Not the government cheese,… Continue reading
-
The Heart of Dreams
Pay attention to your dreams, for they say the subconscious never sleeps. That eyelids bow the soul’s curtsy, a closed curtain for the eyeballs that awaken when the body shuts down. Bodies that die so that the mind may live. Your eyes move freely in the darkness. The random eye movement of fluttering skin in… Continue reading
-
The Brotherhood
He is the invisible man. His strength a hushed whisper overshadowed by feminism or the piercing pain in her song. Scattered notes torn in half with thoughts unspoken and slavery chords not so easily broken. The patent leather image of mama and the broken-down brotherhood of papa. I know only because it’s painted on the… Continue reading
-
Endurance
Endurance, the prominence, comes like a splashing dose of faith. Like scars praising the scarlet letters on my skin. As if strength poured forth from the sky and left its prophecies etched on the calcium of my bones. It’s courage far braver than purple hearts or bleeding pens on the white paper of a soldier’s… Continue reading
-
Voice for Radio
They said she had a voice for radio. That her voice had been blessed. And that angels played on the strings of her vocal chords. That her mind had the ability to cough up words from other dimensions that she, danced on the streets of clouds. Somewhere in the storage rooms they said she danced… Continue reading
The PBS Blog 