“It’s burnt.” Of course it is. “It’s because you wait too long”, a reply laced with the tone that only a parent could have toward their child. I follow my father’s hands, worn with years of hard work, as they mix my bowl of bibimbap. “You eat like this. Now the rice will be crispy … Read more
I stand in a perfectly pristine kitchen. The counter tops are covered in flour. She stands at them, waiting for me. She’s rolling out the cookie dough in deep, even strokes, like the ocean kissing the beach. Her soft humming fills the kitchen with love. Her hands lift me up; I’m in a navy blue … Read more
We stopped leaving the garage door open when we were cooking because I told my mom the police were saying criminals had been stealing equipment from garages. My dad was away on an engineering work contract in Dubai like half the Uncles I knew, so we kids were left to help our moms with everything … Read more
My clay hands are becoming solid porcelain. I have always had potter’s hands. The throwing water absorbs the moisturizing oils of the skin. Leaves the hands rough. The clay paste dries and cracks the skin. Leaving it red. But now my hands are hardening. In the bisque firing, my hands harden like porous greenware. The cremated carbon and sulfur escape, exhuming my … Read more
“Trini?” Suddenly, a beautiful mermaid appeared from behind a curtain of larimar stones, her brown dreadlocks billowing behind her. “Trini, my dear, what’s wrong?” The crying child collided into her mother’s arms, her eyes puffy and red. “It’s Amoye and Akilah!” she sobbed, “They’re going to a party on the Bonaire Reef, and they … Read more