The bronze bench, guarded by an aluminum fence, stood underneath a cedar tree whose arms stretched towards the bright sky like Moses. Little Felipe humored himself and imagined the tree telling each observer, “What you looking at fool?”
When Felipe asked his father about the bench, he heard the same spiel: “It’s a symbol of our people. We worked really hard for this.”
our stepdad became james brown right before our eyes in the living room. it would normally be after returning home from sportsman inn, the bar next to the creek.
Older brother Gilbert (left), Me (right) © 1978
when i discovered the art of writing, it was as if i discovered gold on the other end of the rainbow. i was fourteen and had just gotten my first manuel typewriter. little did i know that this yellow original wordpress would first produce several short horror stories before moving on to more dramatic stories about broken hearts, drugs, suicide—things i noticed going on around me.
