Essays

Songs of the sea, of the forecastle where the sailors slept at night: Home, Dearie, Home.

Vickie Lynn became a stripper by chance.

Words that do not match their peers or adhere to linguistic rules and expectations are the driving trope for the discordance of the immigrant experience in this novel.

All she knew was that she couldn’t let it happen again. All she knows is that a body is a dangerous place to be.

Maybe it was not such an obstacle after all, if it was going to save our lives one day. This is how my brain came to be rewired.

That Saturday, the day of my belated sleepover, the only full day I had with my dad for the entire week, he scheduled my final lesson.

What did I say on the phone? I have no memory.

With my flimsy paper plate overloaded, I take a seat with my parents and three generations of distant cousins. And here, the picnic’s real flavor emerges.

On Tuesday, October 4, 2005, my mom was reported missing from her home.

What to do with all this grief? What to do with all this rage?