All Posts By Tiffani Burnett-Velez

Graciela and Abuela

I am who I am because of Graciela and her bright red sash and because of her Abuela, the old woman with the melted candlestick. The old...

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About Vietnam

I spent the afternoon talking to my stepdad about Vietnam and how he dragged his co-pilot from their broken down fighter jet, waiting too...

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Sapling

You never came even though you had a promise date. I imagined your face a tiny smooth circle of pinkish flesh. You slipped from us,...

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Red Memories

Once upon a time, there was Moscow, and she was big, and she was red and she was covered tight, all locked up in her high tower. But she...

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Eyelids: A Very Brief Tale of Spies and Madness

I live in a neighborhood where horses sometimes wander, and so do drunken old men and well-trimmed hobos dressed in L.L.Bean duck boots....

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The Work of Ghosts

The road is bare, except for a few slowly passing cars. It’s high morning when the stale coffee in my hand is warmed by the sun. Down the...

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