Finley Williams

– April 2026 – We had books, but I never saw my mother read. They lay on the floor along the wall, stacked three or four high and towering like a jagged monument to a life she might have led, or one she led before. She worked, and stayed out, and the books were my… Continue reading

– April 2026 – It took ten hours to get four hours of sleep in the desert. At least it did for me, unfamiliar as I was with the chorus of howls and air. Anxious for rest, I tried to count the things that were the same: The rattling tent flap zippers were coins jingling… Continue reading

– January 2026 – Five days after George Floyd’s death, I stood in a crowd of protesters, in turn cheering, jeering, and silent. A person dressed in all black reached over from where they stood on a telephone box and grabbed the edge of an American flag strung from the wall of a downtown building.… Continue reading

– January 2026 – I When I am too sad and too skinny to keep keeping, when I am a tiny thing against so many bricks, then it is I look at trees. When there is nothing left to look at on this street. Four who grew despite concrete. Four who reach and do not… Continue reading