Lorena Smith was born and raised in Sri Lanka where her Swedish mother and Sinhalese father run an orphanage and various social empowerment programs. She has been published in several magazines and e-zines like Redbook Magazine, Rambler Magazine, Ascent, Sketching Stone, Humdinger, The Smoking Poet, Door Knobs and Body Paint, Mom Writers Literary Magazine and local and regional newspapers She has short stories appearing in four anthologies. She writes mostly on life and family, issues surrounding parenting special needs kids, poverty, social involvement and women’s issues in developing countries.
All articles appearing on these pages are copyrighted by the author. For reprint or purchase please contact: lorena_anna6@hotmail.com
To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never, to forget. (Arundhati Roy)
FAMILIES: THE FRONTLINE OF PLURALISM
Heather Tosteson
Charles D. Brockett
Editors
The difficulties of living up close and personal with diversity—of sensibility, race, culture, class, or religion—is the subject of the stories, memoirs, and poetry in this anthology.
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I listen to my son babble in the bathtub as I’m putting clothes away in the closet. He’s swatting at the bubbles and giggling to himself. I don’t know what he’s trying to say. He’s non verbal. That’s what the “official” report says. The report also states, “Jacob is a physically healthy, non-verbal, seven-year-old autistic child.” It looks so sterile written like that. It looks like it’s just a passing blip. They can’t know how much I long to hear him say something, anything. At this point, I’d settle for him even cursing me out. In all his years, I’ve never heard him spontaneously say to me, “I love you”. I’ve never heard him say what a good mom he thinks I am. I’ve never heard him ask for candy or mumble rude things under his breath because I wouldn’t give it to him.
“Bubble” by Lorena Smith
I was seventeen and I’d never been kissed. All of my friends on the other hand, bragged about having boyfriends who showered them with beautiful jewelry and other expensive gifts. Although I hated to admit it, I was jealous because I believed I’d never find anyone to love me.
“Prom Night” by Stephanie Nolasco
When my Aunt Ruby died several years ago, I was stuck with her furniture. I can’t tell you why, it just happened. After a long, fruitless battle with breast cancer, which ravaged her once luscious curves and ended her life; all that remained was her furniture. She didn’t just die…she faded away. She breathed slowly then drifted off on a wave of painkilling morphine. We all sat around the bed, not quite realizing that it was over.
“Dead King Furniture” by Landis Lane
There is something in you that manages to bring out the submissive woman in me. You bring out the other woman, the one who has an unknown face and an unknown voice that even I don’t recognize. Gone are the days of speaking up, not backing down, or holding my ground. Tomorrow sees me holding my tongue instead.
“Silenced” by Oamshri Amarasingham
The key to happiness is identifying the deal-breakers and walking away before they have a chance to break you. Three years later, I’ve gotten myself back together and I won’t be broken again.
“Back Together” by Whitney Friedrich
I learned that part of being in love meant more than feeling something warm and special inside. I learned that love comes with pain, arguments, sacrifices, tears, joy, lust, respect, understanding, tolerance and a ton of other things in between.
“Love Journey” by Hillary Roy
My body started to dissolve, the serious tone in my voice started to fade and the toughness of my facial expressions began to soften. In that moment, I let down my guard and became transparent. After dinner, we kissed and the surge of electricity caused my heart to melt and my walls to break down. In that moment, the dam of hurt, pride, racial differences, self-denial and self-erected defenses gave way to the acknowledgement of an unexpected love.
“Unexpected Love” by Dorothy Brooks
"Our journeys may be miles apart from one another yet, they transcend race, religion, gender, culture, age, hope and faith, life and loss, happiness and sadness, all woven in the magic and mystery of love."
- Hillary Roy
