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Writer’s Choice

You Can’t See Me

The bus, like all buses in Hyderabad, smells like lemons… and people. Landlocked and sweltering, Hyderabadians have developed an affinity for citrus.

A Learned Man

I was ten years old when I concluded my grandfather was illiterate. I approached him with one of my books one day…

Graveyard

Pilgrimage

You stand at edge of the hole that your mother dug for herself — not for you — but still. You peer down, at the stairs planted into the dirt wall…

Jubilee

A leaf breaks through the rainy mist and spirals to the gravel. “Nick, look!” Bria’s gaze follows the rock face up to where its peak hides in the fog.

Paddling Toward Peace

Today I will lay him to rest, scattering his ashes in this extraordinarily beautiful setting.

Reflections on Love and Loss

Here is nourishment, we tried to say, here is something to sustain the lives remaining, the hearts that still beat..

Old Dog, New Tricks

As soon as Alan Baker walked through the door, he knew he was in trouble. There was a less-than-subtle sign…

feu.

The smoke doesn’t choke me anymore. I took the hell you made for me and made it home…