A cornucopia of color. A litany of light. That's what I could count on come December. It had even spiraled into a competition amongst my neighbors, each house trying to one-up the next. But as far as ... [+]
A cornucopia of color. A litany of light. That's what I could count on come December. It had even spiraled into a competition amongst my neighbors, each house trying to one-up the next. But as far as ... [+]
My father was a somniloquist; he only talked to me in his sleep. Lured at night by his one-sided conversation one room over, I would escape the cot I'd grown out of, gaze at my sleeping mother, and ... [+]
He would have to settle for an unmarked grave, if you could call it that, and his bleached white bones, stripped clean by wild dogs in a dry riverbed on the outskirts of Kabul, not unlike the one he ... [+]