Rhetoric’s apartment was in a block between a no-name bodega, (that’s what he called it) and a small laundromat. The locals were a mix of college students in trendy non-prescription glasses and folks with crunchy hair and meth teeth. I was there because he asked me to be there. …

Grandmother arrived unannounced, again. She had her turmoil filled suitcases and her sharp devil’s tongue in tow. She had made herself at home, as usual, and worked her way into the bathroom. My mother and father were in the kitchen talking. They always had conversations in the kitchen when they…

When I asked Rafael his occupation he smiled and told me his history of start-ups: silk bowties, artisan turkey jerky, and organic mango-lemonade. Rafael told me about summers in Key Largo teaching scuba, then a month he worked for an independent cleaning company scrubbing office toilets and wiping telephones with…

by Pietra Dunmore Elizabeth did the best she could to make ends meet. There were times she’d pay the light bill and times the lights went out. Sometimes we had a place to stay, other times we had to flee in exodus. Those times, I could never bring more than…

by Amelia Coulon [Editor’s Note: This piece is part of the “Topical” series, with each piece solely submitted to and chosen by the Final Reader Pietra Dunmore.] “Hank? I think I might have broken it.” The distressed call from the bedroom into the living room, where Hank tried to work…

by Katherine Gleason [Editor’s Note: This piece is part of the “Topical” series, with each piece solely submitted to and chosen by the Final Reader Pietra Dunmore.] Story I am returning this box of chocolates. I don’t want your chocolates. What I want is my time, my sleep. So, you…

‘Pretty’ is a word I am very hesitant to use to describe myself. To many, that might sound like a compliment. It isn’t. Those three words negate everything else I am. It’s like my face and my body are all that matters. Part of it is because women are expected…

Years ago, I confessed to my friend Naomi that I wanted a husband more than a career. She rolled her eyes and said, “Pablo Picasso says there are only two types of women-goddesses and doormats. Don’t be a doormat.” Naomi let me choose from the guys she didn’t want. Back…

Pietra Dunmore Today I had my blackness questioned, again. It is a familiar scenario that rears its ugly head from time to time, because I was raised in the suburbs. In this particular situation, it was implied that I wasn’t Black because, I didn’t know what dabbing was. For those…