It was a terribly hot September. Though it drizzled now and then, the thick stagnant air of summer refused to give way to the tranquility of autumn. Stubborn tourists trotted the streets in shorts and sleeveless tops, undeterred…
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What did it mean for a black woman to be an artist in our grandmothers’ time? In our great-grandmothers’ day? It is a question with an answer cruel enough to stop the blood. — Alice Walker My maternal grandmother’s name…
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It’s here – midnight & indigo issue no.12! midnight & indigo celebrates Black women writers with the fourth Speculative fiction issue of their literary…
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“You were ashes.” As I stood in the doorway of my sister Everette’s bedroom just past midnight, tears were warm and sticky on my…
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It’s here – midnight & indigo issue no.11! Featuring new short stories and essays by 10 emerging and established Black women storytellers from the…
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Pain \peyn\ n. 3a. Physical or bodily suffering; a continuous, strongly unpleasant or agonizing sensation in the body, such as arises from illness, injury, harmful physical…
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It is a Saturday, and the sweltering Nigerian sun seems to have a point to prove, or a vendetta. I walk toward the cavernous hall, following my mother’s…
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Monday, August 29, 2005; 6:45 AM The vibrant, psychedelic colors of a long-forgotten Spongebob Squarepants episode draining into a black void were the first signs that something was…
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“Curse this damned place. I don’t want anything to do with here.” Holson, my best childhood friend, slammed the door and headed off on foot…
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