Seven Days in June

by Tia Williams

But my contribution to these troubled times will be inciting white women of a certain age to sexually profile Black student athletes who’d really just like to make it to the NBA in peace.

“Do you get your material from a hotep word generator?”

Oh, he realized. I’m a person who doesn’t know when to stop.

When Audre was four, she’d tried to hop into the shadow that Eva cast on the walls. What she wouldn’t have given to try her on.

Shane Hall wrote what she called “F-train books”: the hardcovers grown-ups toted on the subway to flex that they were reading An Important and Culturally Relevant Book.

Like when Spotify plays a song you haven’t heard since childhood, and it reminds you who you are.

“Suficiente para hablar con una tortuga,”

When a houseplant dies, it’s because it’s absorbed bad energy and juju. Bad juju meant for you.

“Truthfully, I can’t imagine ever speaking to that guy. He’s the human equivalent of a spam email,”