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By TOLLEY M. JONES

By TOLLEY M. JONES

By TOLLEY M. JONES

The silverware family in the sink swam in the Palmolive suds sea as I stood on the wooden step stool washing the dinner dishes. At 7 years old, I was too small to be able to reach the sink otherwise. My 9-year-old sister and I were responsible for...

By TOLLEY M. JONES

This morning I stood in front of my altar and lit its candles, held a stub of palo santo to the sputtering flame, and even before I spoke I felt the tingling and buzzing in my shoulders and arms that let me know The Ancestors were already there...

By TOLLEY M. JONES

 Oppressive regimes, governments, religions and family systems rely on silence to fester and thrive. Their weak and parasitic exoskeleton depends on a steady supply of hapless victims who either helplessly, unknowingly, or willingly remain within the...

By TOLLEY M. JONES

A year ago, my dearest friend Kirsten’s life abruptly and shockingly ended. A year ago she came into my car as I drove in terror to her house, to say goodbye to me when I was not ready, nor prepared, to say goodbye to her. A year ago this week, we...

By TOLLEY M. JONES

The other day I was in my office working on a grant report with my door closed, when suddenly loud and joyous laughter exploded in the hallway. My fellow brown female coworkers were laughing the way brown women laugh when they are surrounded by other...