Each breath ignited a fire in my lungs. Still, I remained in place as my hand traced the aged closet that displayed my grandmother’s bold, African print frocks a year after her death. I don’t know why I chose this dreary, overcast day to store her away. It added to the weighty silence in the ...

Content Warning: contains references to assault, drug use, death of a parent, and child abuse. When we spotted her, she sat in the corner. A tiny child holding a doll, she picked its poofed hair with the ferocity of potential future trichotillomania. Her skin’s patches of white and darker tan contrasted with the doll’s color ...