My Cheii’s (grandpa’s) truck coming up the dirt road. A big old cloud of dust behind him. My Cheii’s (grandpa’s) truck, A BIG RED TRUCK! BIG knobby tires, BIG white mirrors, With a flat bed and stack rack. Grumble, …
A Pulitzer Prize finalist, New York Times bestselling author, and tribal college graduate, Tommy Orange presents his top picks from the 2020 creative writing contest.
“beneath umbrellas of drooping purple petals, sticks with triangular heads hold curved handles, thin membranes stretch for tiny legs to back—stroke . . .”
“Shí’ee’ ’éí łeezh bee łíbá sílį́į́’ lá. My clothes became adorned with dust and dirt. ’Áko t’óó nízhónígo shí ’éé’ bík’ídíídláád. The Sun ribbons beautifully adorned my clothes.”
“It wasn’t just the coma. I couldn’t feel her spirit in the room with us. I knew she was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.”
“Your hollow rib cage echoes in silence as you float into the endless digital stream.”
“Unfortunately, it was not long before Samantha learned that the foster home was just as bad, or maybe even worse, than her home with her mother Karen.”
