My Blog

Home can be lost even before you leave it. Millie’s house in Haiti was like a mouth with a roomful of decay. Cream-colored walls became streaked with long traces of black mold because the corrugated-iron roof had rusted in many parts and no longer kept the house safe...

  From such a dream I woke on my last night spent in the small town called Spencer’s Island. I got up and walked through the house awkwardly. I looked apologetically at the fossils as if I had been an intruder in their house and they had only tolerated my presence,...

These small sculptures of women seem born out of a realm of form that came before ours, where feelings preceded thought, and words were not. They are sisters, while it is clear that one is the mother of the other. Her somber skin tones evoke the complexity of a...

The Thing About Mold The mood had been solemn. I had come out of nowhere as far as she was concerned, or for all she seemed to care. The old woman and I had spent a long while together on her front porch, side-by-side in rocking chairs, staring out at the sea....

Satan is a Man I woke up remembering only one image from the dream: a deserted, large family dining table, an empty white tablecloth still spread over it, an abandoned pair of eyeglasses left near the edge. They resembled my father’s, those he has not needed for the...

  In the beginning of life was my mother. And my mother was with me. I thought she was God. To us was given a garden. I saw that it was good. Amidst the flowering fruit trees, she was endlessly beautiful. The first killings came by day, heedlessly, later. They...