I stand in the kitchen of my off-campus apartment, staring at the lumpy sack of Japanese sweet potatoes on the counter. The shape is wrong. They are smaller than the ones Mom buys from the Asian Food Markets back home, their skin covered in little scabs as if they’ve made a hard journey to get here. ...
“Helen, you should call yéye more often.” My father says this one afternoon as he loads the dishwasher, in a tone so normal it’s as if it is an afterthought.
Solutions by The State News
