The man sitting in front of me wears a Multnomah County Fair t-shirt. He has light eyes and an auburn beard and speaks intensely. Our knees touch as he offers me freshly sliced apples on a red plastic plate. Their fragrance wraps around us like a cloud and I struggle to focus on the questions I am asking him about how his brother's eye came to have a pellet in it. He offers the apples once again as I leave, gently mocking: "They're not dirty." I smile weakly and pick two pieces and a whole apple and my mouth waters as my stomach knots with an impossible apology for my country, occupying his.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Friday, September 9, 2016
KEEP GROUNDED
Faded pink high-tops sit like flower pots, adorning the center of the apartment. In each, a yellow or a blue sock blooms with frills and improvised folds; laces, dirty and frayed, blend as they reach into the carpet.