by Michael Neal Morris


I spent a lot of afternoons with my grandparents as small boy, especially in the years between my mother’s divorce and the beginning of her marriage to my step-father. They often took care of my brothers and me while my mother worked double-shifts at a nearby Kip’s. They even dropped us off and picked us up from catechism classes, where I was preparing for my first communion. At their house, I spent most of my time with my grandmother. She, of course, made and served the requisite cookies and helped us with homework. But she also kept us busy with things to draw and color on, or she took us outside to show us her marvelous backyard garden. I loved playing in that backyard, especially when play really meant sitting under the bushes with a book, smelling honeysuckle while watching a lizard’s throat change colors on the fence, or watching my grandmother in her big sun hat prune the flowers she had coaxed to grow in the odd mix of soil found at Dallas residences. It was here she showed me how to peel and eat a pomegranate from a tree she had taken care of. Continue reading


Dirty Dishes and Feminism

by Shazia Ali

My teenage daughter will not wash those dishes

Piled up in the sink, or put the laundry away.

You see this week she became a feminist

And woe to her should she demean herself

To do the tasks that must not be determined

By gender, social norms, or by her mom. Continue reading


By Judith C. Dumont


Names have been changed to protect the privacy of individuals who are not the author.

Tuesday afternoons usually find me huddled down in meetings and this Tuesday was no different. In the suite of my workspace, I was processing a program launch when the door suddenly opened.

“Ms. Dumo—“ she stammered. “Oh, I will come back. I didn’t know…”

It was P, a former student. She had just graduated the previous term and was now working part-time at the college while taking her last few pre-requisites for nursing school. It wasn’t like her to barge in—her nature was always respectful and humble, especially when it came to my time. She was rare that way.

“Hey! I’m in the middle of…”

“Yeah, I can go. I can…” Her eyes darted to the floor. She pulled at her long braid, wrapping it around her neck like a scarf.

“P, you okay?”

“I’ll come back…” Her eyes darted as she backed out of the room.

My co-worker made eye contact with me. “It’s okay,” she said. “We can stop for a bit.”

“Thanks.” I stood up. “P. Come in. Come in.”

Continue reading