haiti
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Chapter 5
Talking with my mother as she stirs the rice, I remember my grandfather the most clearly wearing an immaculate crisply pressed light gray suit and a matching hat, leaning on his cane, walking slowly but confidently down the walkway. He removed his hat once he got inside like any gentleman would, slowly lowering himself into…
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Chapter 2
I am fourteen, standing in the kitchen. I have never seen anyone wield a knife like my mother does. Deft but careful, her hands at ease, accustomed to the blade, as she removes the veins in the chicken thighs. I have never seen a knife like this in another person’s home, its black handle mostly…
Jennifer Lauture 