The Weight of the Mountain
I often think about the way we carry our histories across landscapes that do not care for our names. There is a specific rhythm to walking through a place where the earth is older than the roads, a cadence that forces you to lean into the person…
The Weight of Small Hands
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am sitting with the ghosts of things I chose to ignore while the sun was up. We walk past so many lives during the day, treating them like scenery, like background noise that doesn't belong…
The Weight of Sugar
When I was seven, my grandmother would clear the kitchen table of everything except a single, flour-dusted tray. She didn't let me help with the baking, but she let me watch the way she pressed her thumb into the center of each biscuit, creating…