My grandmother had small hands and long, black thick hair. She wore a ribbon in her hair and bangles on her arms and once upon a time she was seemingly content, but worried. Always worried. Worry lay silently in her veins and sometimes shone in her eyes during the afternoon.
“…and then she refused to pick up her dirty tissues. Honestly, I wanted to swing my mop at her.” Halima Bi gave a frustrated sigh down the phone as Zara heard her ninety-fifth cleaning story, spanning over a decade.
Never-ending fields; / tall, lush green trees, spreading far like extended family. / Canvas-painted sunsets. / Has my village arrived yet?
I had heard from a few women that the drive home from the hospital with your new baby is truly…
“What?” There’s a ringing in my ears. I watch Lucy’s face. Her lips move but I can’t understand what she’s…
“Right, young lady! Are you ready to listen?” Meg, the midwife, appeared into the room and nodded at the bed. …
It was the 21st night of Ramadan. After iftar, we hurriedly performed wudhu and made our way inside Al-Masjid Al-Haram…
How much does the goodness in you weigh? The intentions swimming in your chest, Intentions coated by filth and love;…
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