• Flash Fiction

    Dreams of Home

    I was riding a bike. Or gliding. Or doing that walking without walking thing, like characters in a Spike Lee film.Whatever it was, I was doing it on the old street back home, where I grew up. In that place where dreams are made, it all looked like it did…

  • Flash Fiction

    A Feminism Conundrum

    If this post makes you angry, you might consider your own positionality rather than mine. After all, this is my space, which you are free to vacate whenever you choose. I simply ask a bit of decency and respect — that if you disagree, that you do so appropriately.That said,…

  • Flash Fiction

    14 November: The World Takes

    A former colleague of mine contacted me several weeks ago, knowing I am pretty much a sucker for all things diversity-education-related. He was organizing a tour of schools in my area for several of the people who work in his department. I connected him to some people I know and…

  • Flash Fiction

    12 November: Look Within

    There is hope within.  Some days, it might not feel like it — when turmoil causes physical aches and pains the likes of which no gym trainer could ever produce — but like they say in the Prego commercial, it’s in there. Time passes and in the twilight, thoughts turn…

  • Flash Fiction

    8 November: A Dream in a Dream

    I looked at my legs, amazed that so many moles would have developed overnight. I touched a few, gently, rubbing my fingers across the rough surface of first one and then another. I blinked and in the span of time that my eyes closed and opened again, the moles had…

  • Flash Fiction

    5 November: Dreams …

    The rock was heavy but not: it had a hole in it.In the hole were two small scorpions, pinkish-gray. They were sleeping.I carried the rock around the house and showed the scorpions to the dogs. They were not impressed.The scorpions woke up and the war began — I flung the…

  • Flash Fiction

    3 November: Old But Not Out

    Aches and pains do not stop my show. One day, I will have a stylish walking stick and will stroll-hobble to my hovercar. I will continue to pilot myself, even after those who are infants today are little more than dust. When I squint at products on store shelves, other…