Homeroom always started with prayer, and my teacher, Mrs. Stein, always asked the class if there was someone or something we wanted to devote some extra thought and prayer to. I never said anything.
Category: Memoir
When We Are Older
“I’ll tell you when you’re eighteen,” she sniffled, as she tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. My mother was sitting on the ledge by the window, roughly brushing tears from her cheeks
A Self-Portrait in Three Parts
We arrived in Pennsylvania in the summer. Perhaps that was why I was not yet wary and vigilant as I should have been, as I told myself I would be. The slow and idyllic heat reminded me of the best parts of Georgia, before the air turned febrile and violent with the agitation of summer storms.