“No Stop of the Zeroes” by Tamar Jacobs
It is hard to explain about staring at people.
It is hard to explain about staring at people.
My son, Matthew, didn’t go through the Terrible Twos until he was three.
“Vultures.” On the roof again today.
The boundary between information and inert matter was ruptured irrevocably when mankind learned what our ancestors knew before the birth of civilization: to touch is to know.
My family and I are the only historically black Americans living in our New York City apartment building.
I am reincarnated as the middle daughter of my youngest grandchild, Eliza.
I waved my hand across a bank of monitors that precisely registered my status and identity.
Tommy was pointing out the sights of Montego Bay, shouting to be heard above the rumble of the boat’s engine as it navigated out of the crowded harbor, but Deb wasn’t listening…