Eagle Pass, Texas
Fiction by Angelica Esquivel
I made a shadowbox of the town where my parents met and hung it above my kitchen table. Then I sat and smoked a cigarette that made me nauseous after just one puff. Sick, like I’d inhaled the intense scent of my father’s sacramental oils, the ones he’d rub on his temples before bed while praying so softly that no one could hear him.