Category: Writing
every sunday
Every Sunday, in the early evening, the smell of baking bread breakdances through the house. It slides into rooms and closets, sweeping itself under doors even if they’re shut. Sour dough bread is not something I grew up with but has become something I’ve grown to love. It’s a real struggle not to cut into…
ode to snail mail
I was a teenager when my mom was awarded a Fulbright scholarship to study in the US. We left Guyana and moved to America for two years, she in Albany and me in Miami. All my friends were back home in Georgetown. I remember buying a box of letter writing stationery from Eckerds Pharmacy to…