The Concrete Cradle
Photo by Nolan Issac
“He pulls the phone away, and you listen as he dry heaves. When his voice floats back, he sounds like a dream that has already slipped through your fingers.”
Moccasin Millennial
The Digital Story Keeper
CREDIT: Photo courtesy of John McClung
“After the espresso runs dry and the writers hit their word counts, I shutter the storefront, dim the lights. I walk back to my studio carefully, scanning patches of ice…”
Moccasin Marginalia
“You marvel at his ability to weave layered questions meant to second-guess, to erode at a credibility that has scarcely had a chance to establish itself in the ninety days since arriving to this polished pinnacle of the publishing world.”
Hummingbird Hymn
Photo by Vijayalakshmi Nidugondi via Unsplash
“I brought my hand to my heart, shook out an amber thumbprint of tádídíín, and stooped to the ground, my head bowed…”
Heart Song of the Newly Devoured
CREDIT: Mike Swigunski via Unsplash
I’ll be back from Juárez before Christmas. Definitely before inauguration day. . . . In dreams, the truth slipped into your mind like a bitter medicine you had to sip by the teaspoon.
Almost-Perfect Headshot
PHOTO CREDIT: Photo by Ethan via Unsplash
“The dust is dissipating from the shooting range shot between us, and the vibrations of target practice have long left our bodies ringing…”
How to Leave a Country
“He slips soundlessly from the passenger’s seat, ducks into the crisscrossed escalators tucked behind the luggage carousel, and winnows away from view…”
Mantras for a Midwest Metropolis
“Snowflakes practically sizzle against my reddened cheeks. My backpack thuds with each step, heavy with the weight of books. Each step into the crunching snow matches the tempo of my rising pulse.”
On Mime and Mimicry
Photo by Thiébaud Faix
“This is the scene I picture even now, watching the news, the somber faces of women illuminated on every screen—all reaching across that void, to reassure, to comfort, to scream…”
A Year of Death
“Every single day in that year of death, you watched yourself wither away at the edges…”