Christopher David Rosales

Mama don’t remember Tío Kiko taught me tattoos—no one does but me. We sat in the backyard behind the long flat house we got in California, leaned against his Bronco shaded by the avocado tree we got in California too. He said, mustache flared, “All you need’s a bic, a lighter, and shoe polish, Lil […]

That’s your house? You don’t leave it at night without the porchlight burning, and that sticker in the window that says beware of owner, means beware of gun, lies cause all that’s in your top-drawer are balled up tighty-wighties? Beware of what, then? Beware of you who ducks down the alley, when you see him […]