When Jo stepped on pavement, everyone complained about the afro-pop that trailed behind her. Each beat was a kick in the shin, disinviting the people she had come to know and sending bat signals to the family she was fighting for. ---------- Bus rides to New York City lasted 4 hours on good days and …
Moulting
Up and down Symmes Court. In and out of Chinese Satellite. The up and in and down and out happened miles apart, but back on Symmes Court it all feels the same. New shoes, younger hair, no debt. But I haven't moved. I can't drive. My words are garbled and I can't make anything out …
From my pink moleskin
I want to write something I'll be remembered for. Something that will move and impress people. I want to make it revolutionary and radical and meaningfully exclusive to Pakistani Muslims and tactfully inclusive of all those who feel othered in some way. But I can't even decide what to name my character. Mariyam or Mary.
I’m just relieved it’s not been that long
This blog has witnessed Northampton, MA. It has witnessed the insides of tea shops and cafes, and of my 20-something brain. Quite frankly, I'm surprised. Now it's time to witness the imposingly-named Ballston in the plastic city of Arlington, VA across (the Potomac) from the concrete of D.C. I never thought it would come to …
Tea time
I'm sitting in this weird, lamp-lit tea cafe in a queer town in Western Mass. And I swear I'm trying to mind my own business (no, I'm not) but there's a window opposite the booth filled with floor pillows that I'm seated in. And in the window I see the cash register behind me, reflected. …
in medias res 