island time

After Bryan Shimoda I had a dream last night that the Malecon was burning. I had a dream last night that the balseros we built out of whatever our hands could find were strong enough, floated long enough to reach people we never thought we’d find after the depths of the ocean claimed them. I had a dream last night that I held hands with my lover while we flew and fell and floated through the between. In the center of the city, we danced and cried, part angry, part beautiful. I had a dream last night that a woman was made of rain, and became a wave that mourned over the empty streets and ash. I had a dream last night that we sailed through the streets and the buildings were all the primary colors crumbling over us until we couldn’t see anymore. The colors darkened, and the rubble they left behind got stuck in our throats until we didn’t recognize each other. I had a dream that we told each other our hopes while we were underwater and someone, somewhere, was crying but we lau...

Salty air wraps around my nose like the algae covering my toes. The shore is never clear en La Habana. There’s always humidity, even in the middle of December, and the frizzy air never leaves my hair calm for long. Orange and red hues swirl with the blue sky declaring its last goodbye. Next year at this time,   I will no longer feel the saltwater breeze; I will not be surrounded by the rainy nights and lively days of the Club Havana, the underwater scenes of the Caribbean Ocean. If I am a home why do I never stay anywhere? I am from everywhere and nowhere at all, floating further, fading away. Every memory begins and ends by the sea, ongoing and infinite. Jacob is not “forever”, porque ya se secó El Malecón, and the waves washed the algae away.

My aunt’s name was rarely mentioned. All I knew of the reclusive woman I was named for was that she used to wear colorful robes. Anytime I asked about her, my father’s face clouded over and he told me to forget it.   I. She was beautiful. Young, and impossibly beautiful. It should have been impossible to touch her. II. Amnon her brother – her half- brother – was consumed by a sick, twisted love for her. III. He knew he couldn’t have her. But nobody told him he shouldn’t. IV. When he called her over to bake for him, she was wary – but every woman bakes. V. So, she made the cake, and he closed the door. She knew it was too late to reverse the clock. VI.   She begged him to think of King David as a bid for time, for a pause of conscience in this violent passion play. VII. She was desperate. Young, and impossibly desperate. But it was impossible to stop him. VIII. Her brother – her half -b...

            Nick struggled to walk in the door, juggling his bag and keys in one hand, and a few groceries in the other. It was cold enough outside to see his breath in front of him. He had removed his gloves, so his hands were numb, making it even harder to put the key in the lock. When he finally managed to push the door open, he heard his ringtone. He glanced inside his bag to check who was calling and glimpsed his stepdad’s phone number. He heard a faint sound of eggs cracking on the floor, but somehow Nick didn’t register that he had dropped all his grocery bags. He froze in place, unable to process his dad’s phone call or answer.             Finally, the phone stopped ringing, and he snapped back into reality. He cursed at the mess he made on the floor and walked inside his small apartment to clean it up. He put all his stuff away and scrubbed all the egg yolk off the floor until the entryway reeked of Clorox. After he ma...

“I’m going back to Italy on the 15 th ,” Dahlia said, and the smile finally escaped her face. Richie froze and dropped the rag he was holding on the floor. He turned around slowly. The loud conversations in the café faded into background noise as if the two of them were the only ones inside. “The 15 th of this month?” he asked. He picked up the rag and started wiping down the same spot over and over. “I know it’s soon, but I think it’s the right time.” He could feel her glancing at him, but he was frowning at the counter, unmoving. “When did you decide?” “Just a couple of days ago. I talked to my sister about it for a while and finally decided to go back.” “I thought Jeri wanted you to stay for the summer,” he said, finally looking into her green eyes. “What about your team?” “She did. Plans change.” This time, Dahlia looked away and stared down at her feet. He wasn’t sure about her team, but he knew her coach would be happy for her. The opportunity to play in Italy was ra...

After the pastor spoke his final words, they released the doves into the sky. The doves. We call them doves. They’re just pigeons, the same birds that annoy us and beg us for food. But when they’re pretty and trained, we watch them with awe. I watched them fly for as long as possible until the sun blinded my eyes. It was hot and bright outside. I looked over at my parents and studied their faces. I couldn’t tell if it was tears or sweat dripping down my father’s cheek. I imagined how difficult it was that the weather didn’t match their somber grief. Our clothes were black and dusty, making the suffocating heat unbearable. Eventually, everyone began to leave the gravesite. Friends and family walked by us to give their condolences. My father couldn’t stop crying, but my mother had stopped days ago. She was stoic, but even I was surprised at her stony, blank expression when my aunt told her how good of a mother she had been. It was hard having a brother who didn’t outlive his mother. ...