More on: family

In my family, as in others, it was money that finally broke us apart. The brother who was out—my uncle—was now in; the brother who was in—my father—was now out. An old story, set now in southeast Georgia: Lear in the Low Country, the prodigal son come home to the provinces.

Like you, I’m on a journey, though where I’m going / changes with each moment.

The racetrack, famously built before we knew of such things, straddled a fault line at the joint of two very active plates. As a result, fissures spread through the walls of the old grandstand like capillaries. The world was tearing it apart naturally.

“Literature…can hold up those things that mainstream society doesn’t believe: that Black people are there. One of my jobs is just holding that up to the light so that everyone can see that they’re there.”

Benjamín Naka-Hasebe Kingsley on an east Pennsylvania rite of passage.

When I tilt the cup
it drains like a face.

Suffering, I once believed, was a human privilege,
but in that moment I watched as God
died, as God witnessed.

It’s sugar that makes fruit gel. Sugar preserves. Sugar is an everyday miracle. It causes fruit to retain its bright color, until it is brighter than it ever was on the tree. Heat and sugar alchemize to turn a jar of jam into a glowing jewel.

In her art, Huckaby is constantly pushing herself to discover those previously unheard voices.

My father’s latest stray, half-grown half-husky racing through puddles, won’t last long.