Haiku Stroke
By Martina Reaves
SO, IT BEGINS
I said “Dark Water”
instead of “English Breakfast.”
I couldn’t name Grace.
Getting Old
By Martina Reaves
I wandered from my second-floor office down to Fourth Street to indulge myself after a particularly difficult afternoon. Even though it was February, the afternoon sun blazed, the air was still, and the sidewalks were crowded with folks pretending it was spring.
Wanda
By Martina Reaves
She first arrived at our front door when we lived in Albany at the top of the hill. Skinny and dark black, she looked like a Kenyan long-distance runner and seemed ageless. “Hi, I’m Wanda, your new housekeeper from Marvel Maids.”