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Non-Fiction

Selijalandsfoss Iceland

I Don’t Speak Icelandic

“Eg tala ekki Islensku,” I say, with a perfect accent: “I don’t speak Icelandic.” It’s the sentence I utter most often in my mother’s language…

Canada Goose

Peace, Order and Pretty Good Normal

Hamid told Ava he was standing at the corner of King and James when a goose dropped like a flailing accordion out of the sky.

desert sunset

Desert Spirits

My mom made sure we were in the car by three in the morning, quickly cramming us into a rented tour van. Eleven of us were on the way to Mama Cuca’s house…

Grass Frost

Home, Alone

Tucked into the soft cushions of the couch, I look out through the branches of the Christmas tree at the front lawn.

door

Writing is Dangerous

Writing is dangerous. It’s a broken bone mended wrong. A healing scab you pick until it bleeds. It opens wounds and forgets how to close them. Instead, leaves it gaping.

Rock Climber

Vertical Girl

My outdoorsy boyfriend lived for the feeling of shoving his feet into one-size- too-small rock climber shoes and dangling off the sides of cliffs.

road

Finally, the Right Size

Already 5’9” at twelve years old, I never knew where my hands were until I bumped into a doorway or where my feet were until I tripped over…

frying pan

Day of the Frying Pan

Whenever my siblings mention the frying pan incident, I laugh along with them, even though I find it tragic and and far from funny.

spider

The Spider and the Bookcase

A Spiny Orb Weaver spider has taken up residence in the potted plants next to my back door. It is an odd looking creature…