(An unedited excerpt from “The daughter of no one famous”) Under the grey fleece of sunset, the muezzin called out for Maghrib. She hated this time of day. It was lead on her brain, oppressive and dim. […]
His dreams sell cheap at the corner shop.
a soft sari of embroidered silk I want to wrap around myself.
Like a heathen who doubted her prophet, I asked for a sign.
One man's dream is another man's derision.