Published in Rusted Radishes

The trunk of Mama’s car is dark, darker than everything, like the only blind spot under the sun. Around it is noise. A school bus clogging the capillary of streets starts a honk hysteria. Three quick whips on a donkey’s back and a crazed clop-clop. Angry men come out of cars to start a word war.

Published in Flash Fiction Magazine (US)

The Writers & Readers (UK)

Verbal is fine; he’s a good boy. But these women want to tell Jana what’s wrong. They sit with clipboards and tell her the miracle child born out of her last egg follicle at the age forty-five is an anomaly. They lean towards each other, close ranks, and synchronize their words

Published in Anomaly

Usta Baher was a dick. The way he referred to Tamima in the masculine, as if calling her by her name was some kind of indecent exposure, the way he never looked her in the eye when she addressed him as if looking was somehow equal to undressing, the way he zigzagged from lane

Published in Chaleur Magazine

The fork and knife sat parallel to each other on the plate with the tines pointing upwards. She had ordered medium-rare steak and got served a well-done. It had the finish of beef jerky with blobs of fat settling comfortably on the better of it.

Published in Chaleur Magazine

It was hard to think of her feet getting any bigger, but they were; So big and pale that they looked like dough spread on a kitchen counter. How she hated walking into shoe shops, curling her toes in as she asked for a size 39 instead of 41.