Nonfiction

I was a child full of cautions, ellipses, living in an insular world, always watching. I watched the physical irritation of my father, how his eyes jerked and his mouth narrowed at the slightest interruption.

Each night like clockwork, Sean’s voice lulls me to sleep. He sounds exactly like my grandmother, who was also born and raised in Belize.

When my mother opened my bedroom door and asked me if I was responsible for the house shaking, my initial hypothesis dissolved the way a spiderweb fissures with the help of a swaying hand.