He sucks on the sugar cube between his molars as he sips his color tea. “Let’s go to Iran by bus through the Turkish border. Who is going to know where we are coming from? People go back and forth, taking vacations in Istanbul all the time.”
The Sun Rose Madder: A Summer in Istanbul by Edwin Rivera
The Call by Pamela Brown-Peterside
The newborn I was looking for was asleep in the arms of her father, an older man, lean with well carved biceps. Worry spills out of the hollow of his eyes. She was barely visible, hidden in the folds of a new kitengye. Her mother wasn’t well enough to begin breastfeeding. On pediatric rounds yesterday, Jennifer provided boxed milk for the baby, whom they have named Nightie.
