Olivia Rocamora

The Catfish

I was in the sixth grade when I woke up to the front yard leaping. My father, having built a small water feature in our front yard, wasn’t satisfied. He wanted something more. Something bigger. Something deeper. So his team of workers, young immigrants whose hourly wages dug dreams of their own back in Guatemala, bent their backs toward their boss’ vision…

Distinguished Writer of the ArtAscent Animals call for entry. To see the full body of work, grab a copy of the ArtAscent Art & Literature Journal Animals issue.

Subscribe
Notify of
guest
0 Comments
Inline Feedbacks
View all comments