I Call My Body a Miracle.
I know I am a dead man as soon as the machete hits my neck. Dead. Dead. Dead. Then I tell myself, “Sima, these people are going to kill you this night—run!”
Awakening.
The flickering high-wall torches cast an eerie glow on the bare-chested priest as he trudges out of the cavern temple. Abby, wherever she is in the afterlife, would be amazed that I’ve finally decided to attend the ritual.
I Bail the Cat from Rabidity and other poems.
My people have extended the hand of their evening meal into the yawning mouth of a rabid cat— this is how a child’s liberty is thrown…
Cry, just cry.
Next Sunday, when everybody is at church, Mngueshima will rise from her bed and walk to the drawer where all the documents of her educational achievements are kept.
Thunderbird and other poems.
I came without a religion, before the hypnosis,
looking spotless on a sunrise, the therapist held my fears,
Motherhood.
The baby is at it again. His shriek reaches you from the other room, a scratchy, high-pitched noise that claws through the wall separating the…
Test on Identity and other poems.
1. What is the weight of a name lost in translation?
a) A letter swallowed by the wind. b) The echo of a mother’s voice fading at the border…
A Costly Mistake.
I went to Bodija market to ask for long-grain rice. One market woman glanced left and right, and whispered close to me: “Do you mean Cocaine?”
Defending God?
I've been thinking about God lately. Not that I don't think about him often (not thinking about Him is like saying we don't think about oxygen,
The Arrow.
I am selfish to a fault. I say this with an air of resignation, not with any senseless ode to repentance. How do I know this, you ask? Well, read my story below.
The INN(T)ER VIEW.
I was in front of a people recently. I ordinarily wouldn't say they belong to me because when you're being viewed by different people, they call it an interview, I hear.