/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Parasite, Spring 2022,
bittersweet flavor my dad obsessed over present at Christmas, church potlucks, and political family dinners a bane on my childhood in my coming of age I cut pieces out at midnight and savored what I swore I detested older and farther away I recalled my mother in the kitchen stirring a [&
Explain to me the imagined self. Is blood thicker than water? Maybe I am thicker still. Paint a picture of progress and watch the colors run. Is theory all there is? No, but yes. Yes, maybe yes. The […]
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} The Things Left Unsaid
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Recollection, Spring 2
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Mto Wa Mbu, Spring 202
Busia’s house always felt foreign to me. I was used to shag carpets, floral wallpapers, and watching Hogan’s Heroes on our white Zenith television back at home. Busia’s, on the other hand, was more like a relic from the postwar housing boom. The wallpapers were khaki-colored, spotted r
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} “Blossoming Mome
you are written in knife on the lines of my hands and the hands of my mother your love falls through my fingers like loose change from torn pockets of the coat you bought me last fall. your rage smothers me – it is pressed leaves from the maggot-sick tree you […]
/*! elementor – v3.6.6 – 08-06-2022 */ .elementor-widget-image{text-align:center}.elementor-widget-image a{display:inline-block}.elementor-widget-image a img[src$=”.svg”]{width:48px}.elementor-widget-image img{vertical-align:middle;display:inline-block} Self-Portrait in Color
