Every day, every hour, every minute, every second The stomachs growled with hunger… The stomachs moaned in yearning… The stomachs growled...

My grandmother taught me Kreyòl. You must know where you come from, so you understand where you’re going, she said. Kreyòl: an open door to

she fled from mahogany-hued skin dark velvet in winter and through spring summer skin, coated like black beans. she cried under her bed...