Sometimes you love
For no reason
dedicated to my father.
12.12.49 — 12.13.08
(in memory of Nico Millican and Jean)
I knew you
A short story.
I know it’s been awhile but then again, it never seems like very long with us — does it? I don’t remember the last time we talked in person, but I hear you’re doing well. At least, that’s what “our people” say. Rest assured, I don’t…
Every trip to the Mexican market scared me as a child
Styrofoam plates of cow lengua and eye balls staring me in the face
The long, fleshy pink-beige layers of tripa my father would buy for his menudo