The Back Scene by Jose Juniel Rivera-NegronThe Weight of What Follows
When I was seven, my mother took me to the train station in Enugu. I remember the platform was a blur of rushing legs and heavy suitcases, a chaotic tide of people moving toward somewhere else. I spent the entire afternoon watching the backs…
The Weight of the Mountains
I remember sitting in a tea house in the high valleys of the north, watching a young boy help his grandfather stack firewood. He couldn't have been more than ten, but his hands moved with the practiced, heavy rhythm of a man who had spent his…
The Unblinking Witness
Seneca once remarked that nature does nothing in vain, yet we spend our lives surrounded by a world we barely perceive. We move through the thicket of our own concerns, blind to the quiet, predatory intelligence that shares the air with us.…