ALL CREATIVE NONFICTION, FLASH FICTION & POEMS

October 1968 I clearly remember the first time I crossed the river to Saint Paul. Dad had sent a cab to my dorm so I could join him at...

ASIA SONG PULLED UP TO A GAS STATION on I-94 west. She went straight to the restroom. She washed her hands. Washed her fatigued eyes....

My husband told me about the Lebanese enclave on the West Side, shopping at Morgan’s for flat bread and kibbi, his mother digging up...

“DAKHASO, dakhaso,” my mom is screaming, standing at the door of her Minneapolis home. “Hooyo,” I whine. “You can’t rush tea! You know...

IN 1970, I WAS FOURTEEN YEARS OLD. In those days, if a person wanted to get somewhere, they walked. The Schmidt Brewery was always...

I AM . . . Rondo connected to a rich cultural history of unity, faith, and purpose. I AM . . . my African roots. I AM . . . freedom and...

We, some ticking legacies, tend our gentle life beeps and together betray the old I won’t register on the seismograph thought. Standing...