Archive for the ‘Creative non-fiction’ Category

When we were younger, my sister Chandra and I both got into the habit of counting up to a thousand when we couldn’t fall asleep in order to prevent ourselves from thinking about death. (more…)


Published February 20 2011 in The Ubyssey. Part of monthly column “Comics with Miranda Martini.”

February is Black History Month, and Black History Month always gets me thinking about Archie Comics. (more…)

Published as feature in October 17 2008 issue of Discorder, music magazine of CiTR 101.9, UBC’s campus radio station.

These days, weather can’t come up in conversation without being almost immediately dismissed as the lowest grade of small talk. We forget in the modern era of urban supremacy that not so long ago, weather was at the centre of most people’s concerns, and could therefore be discussed with impunity. (more…)

Published April 3 2011 as “The Comics Cure” in The Ubyssey, newspaper of the University of British Columbia. Part of monthly column “Comics with Miranda Martini.”

If you’ve sat in a clinic waiting room before, you’ve almost certainly seen a poster on the wall asking you to rate your pain based on scale from one to ten, with pictures to guide you. One will likely be a dopey, guileless grin, ten an exaggerated pout with big fat tears running down its face. (more…)

First published in the anthology Other Tongues: Mixed Race Women Speak Out (Eds. Adebe DeRango-Adem & Andrea Thompson, Inanna Press, 2011).

Watch me read from this piece at the Other Tongues launch here.

When the sun comes back, and the first Quail calls, 

Follow the drinking gourd;

For the old man is waiting for to carry you to freedom

If you follow the drinking gourd.



My journey could begin in several places: it could begin with the 1910 exodus of between one and two thousand Blacks, who escaped the Jim Crow South by emigrating to the Canaan Land, Heaven, also known as Canada; it could begin 48 years before, with 6-year-old Rufus, my great-great-grandfather, being kidnapped along with his two brothers from their Arkansas home and taken to Texas by slave traders. The story goes back farther still than that, but I suppose the real beginning – and ending – is with me, nine or ten years old, and my grade five class’ First Nations study project. (more…)