by Jason Grant The entire king-sized bed is mine now, but I can’t seem to move from the left side to the right because on the nights you were here—laying there—if I dared move from my side to yours in the middle of the night it was like I-was-crossing-some-boundary you-needed…
By Shandrease Cushionberry My father was a shadowy Moreno until the day of his funeral. He was what I would call a black Dominican. My mother is a black woman. I am her only child, her little black girl. “Te quiero mi negrita,” she sometimes says to me. And I…
