grandmother

Polyp Trees | Fiction

Polyp Trees | Fiction

Mebba told me once that in the south, Magnolia trees mean something different; to our people, anyway. Their stock and branches, thick and twisted between delicately soft blooms that almost make the trees seem beautiful. Almost. I visit her every summer, but this one...
Martha | Poetry

Martha | Poetry

you unknown root my wild card I had you, old woman with still-dark hair squatting by the wood stove hardly glancing at the tiny girl, the post-war baby. my daddy told me we were Blackfoot from you. so in cowboy games I wore backyard feathers. later in his dream west...
Shrimp & Grits | Nonfiction

Shrimp & Grits | Nonfiction

How Southern Comfort Food Helped Me Find Home in My Adventure You are the bravest girl I know. This adventure is yours. My best friends’ words did laps around my mind as I stepped into the hordes of people in London’s Piccadilly Circus. It was November 2016, and those...