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Holt Mettee

Holt is passionate about social justice and breakfast food. Holt is involved in LGBTQ+ rights, Native American rights, and feminism. Holt's goals for the year are to experience everything with open eyes and an open mind.

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Blue. Sir.

February 8, 2017

Two white roosters eat rice spilled on the ground outside next to an empty pack of Sir cigarettes matching their red combs, white feathers. Inside, Baaba sits on the blue plastic chair in front of yellow wall. Listens to the radio placed in front of blue curtain in doorway. Peanut shells at feet. The two...

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Sinthiouroudji.

February 8, 2017

Thunder in the distance. Far away lightning illuminates the silhouettes of corn fields, silk swirling in the cool moonlit nighttime breeze like after lunch cigarettes. Baaba an sits on the floor of his room, folding, needing, ringing his prayer beads in his big hands. Looks up, chin towards sky, then down. Forehead to beads in...

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Tabaski.

February 8, 2017

My brother, my sister’s boyfriend, and the man that works at the corner store across the street shuffle hurriedly past my bedroom door each holding a leg of the sheep. Its limp body sways to the prayer from the mosque. Youssou’s in the back now sitting down in the kitchen doorway that leads to the...

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Morning Brother.

February 8, 2017

Youssca stands outside framed by the door frame. Backlit by pinky orange painted walls. Cigarette smoke and steam from café touba join, mingle, intertwine. Fill the space in between green palm tree leaves. Swim trunks, bare chest. Inhales. Exhales. Kisses the morning.

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Pink.

February 8, 2017

Today it rained. The low tiled and mosaic alleys that separate concrete pastel houses flooded into rushing orange brown rivers, picking up pieces of litter and orange flowers from the trees. The prayer from the nearby mosque harmonizes with the francophone hip hop playing on the kitchen radio. Pots and pans, sizzling fish and the...

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First.

February 8, 2017

My host sister knocks on my door and hands me a glass of pale pink-ish orange-ish juice (the same color as the house, my bedroom walls a few shades paler), says “I like you” and walks away. My new name is Aida. My bed sheets are purple with printed flowers. My host brother watches French...

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