Mama yells at my older brothers to cease the ruckus drowning out the always-on television. They move their horseplay to our shared bedroom, and fling open the wooden shutters to a blast of hot air and an even louder din outside.

Family is a game of genetic roulette and mine taught me that Love is a threat

“Passage across the Miraji.” The man lifts the chondrite talisman hanging from his neck, and a radiant sliver of light crossing its edge nearly blinds me.

Kevin didn’t want to share a room with their mother. In the tiny house after the divorce, she said they didn’t have a choice.

Spring. Wood anemones opening their petals to greet the sunlight. Lesser celandines spangling the ground in constellations of yellow stars. And most magical of all, bluebells receding in an endless haze.