Sisi and the Ladder


“I want to see the stars,” Sisi said to her mother.

She was seven, a young Venezuelan long before the time of Bolivar, and, as children often are, she was unafraid to dream.

“Well, Sisi,” said her mother as she ushered the young lass outside, “The stars are right here for you to see. See?”

And the stars bespectacled the night sky, flickering and shining bright as a young girl’s eye.

“No, mother,” Sisi insisted, “I don’t just want to see the stars,” and she became spectacularly serious, “I want to see them from up there. I want to go to the stars. I want to touch them.” Continue reading

Vignette II


“I am so over meth,” she exclaimed, without a hint of irony.

Her teeth, occasionally radiant but mostly dulled and frayed from years of foreign deposits inhaled, shone semi-bright in the glimmer of the two-p.m. sun. It was brisk, but not chilly. She was warm, but still cruel.

Neither of us had desk-jobs, so we were free to meander and dip in-and-out of epiphany as we saw fit during working hours. She draped herself in a grey cardigan with cigarette burn-marks tied haphazardly around her neck.

“How could someone work so hard to accomplish so little?” Continue reading