I first felt certainty at my masaní’s (grandmother’s) farm. I felt safe in her hogan, curled up with blankets, the stove fire hot on my cheeks, side-by-side with my younger siblings. I’d listen to their breathing, a steady rhythm accompanied by soft crackles from the burning wood. Through her ...
“Would that be debit or credit?”
He hasn’t moved from the kitchen table. Yesterday’s hard-boiled eggs and toast sit untouched on his paper plate, no doubt cold. Everything but his left hand remains still. He’s been rewriting the same word, over and over. In harsh, repeated lines, I can read clay. I’m surprised the pen hasn’t ...
I’ve only written one love letter in my entire life. And honestly, it wasn’t as much of a love letter as it was a handwritten apology.
Step one: The water needs to be scalding. It needs to hurt when you touch it. Step two: Pour a quarter-sized glop of dish soap into the sink. Let water run over the cap, so you don’t waste any. Step three: Watch the bubbles rise like clumps of white clouds, until they’re at a comfortable height ...
My parents were super excited to plan my first birthday party—at least that’s what I got from looking at old photos. They went out of their way to buy and decorate a cake; the pastel pink and white icing in the pictures caught my attention. They prepared enough food for a potluck: in the corner ...
Solutions by The State News
