In the photograph, Aunt Anna looks back at Lysa who snaps the camera. It’s 1978, at Aunt Helen’s house in Waterproof, Louisiana, during the annual summer reunion. All fifty members of the Howell clan camping out, drinking and eating for two weeks. Anna wears a light-weight, blue-jean dress with red and white check trim, and
Up Parrotfish Rock
I go looking for my watermelon outside of Albuquerque with Cameron, a friend from North Carolina. We end up at a huge Smith’s Supermarket, where he thinks we might find one, even smack-dab in the middle of the off-season. He’s right, but they’re not very attractive specimens—seedless things, smaller than usual, and underripe to boot.
To Carry Two Watermelons Under One Armpit
Като бях малка, моята баба често ме питаше когато трябва да разрежем диня, искаше от мене да позная дали е червена или е жълта. И естествено, аз жълта диня не бях виждала и винаги казвах че е червена. Tя ми разказваше че на времето когато тя е била малка, наистина е имало жълти дини и
Fruits of Freedom
A Black woman named Clara was selling watermelons in the streets of Houston, Texas, when she recognized a white boy whose family used to enslave her. She had actually been his nanny until that summer, when the Union’s victory secured her freedom. The boy, little Henry Evans, cried for days when she left—but that grief
The Watermelon Woman
When one thinks of an archive, they likely imagine a set of photographs or slides, reams upon reams of paper, boxes, records, and perhaps a catalog. It is likely to consist of objects that contain information regarding a specific moment in history, a cultural movement, or a catastrophic event. They imagine it is probably housed
Old Man With A Melon
Exiting my flight from Delhi, I stood at the immigration desk, where the officer asked whether I was “with them”, gesturing with his chin towards the raucous gang of Indian men waiting in line behind me. “No” I said. He stamped my passport. As I loaded my single suitcase into the back of one of
They Put in Their Stomach a Summer Watermelon
On hot July days, those who had returned from Kuwait to spend the summer months in Cairo’s cooler nights would invite their friends and family once the temperatures dropped. The friends or family would arrive late, around 9 or 10pm, often with a watermelon, priding themselves for perfecting their techniques of selecting the best one
Watermelon Whispers
I know how to pick the best watermelon. Don’t ask me how; my memory isn’t great and I’m not good with words. We used to buy one watermelon a day in the summertime. My dad would spoon it from his half directly, while my mom took an ice cream scoop and prepared watermelon balls to
