Mary Coston Wise

Mary Coston Wise

Finally, I see you. Weathered black, white shades of brown. I weep from longing.   You are eighteen with furrowed brow wearing your Sunday best.   It’s Accomack County graduation day 1935. Did you know your arms,  legs crossed, could not shield you  from...
Healing from Race-Based Trauma

Healing from Race-Based Trauma

When my family and I moved back home to America from South Africa, we were not prepared for what would greet us upon our return. The dead of winter in Boston with its frigid temperatures, gray skies, and snow were the least of them. We also noticed that the social...
Momae’s Kitchen

Momae’s Kitchen

When Momae moved up north to Massachusetts to join Daddy, she brought her most precious possessions stuffed inside my granddaddy’s big brown leather suitcase. She also brought recipes handed down from my Nana, some hastily scribbled on paper, and others...

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