Kira DeSomma
Bio
Author. Artist. Earl Grey Enthusiast // She/her // Joypunk and/or hopecore
Stories (15)
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The Pigeon Repairman of the Bronx
My father was an honest man, as long as you were not working for a government agency, Wall Street, or for some reason the ASPCA. He spent his career teaching aspiring mechanics the distinct types of drill bits in what seemed to me to be a foreign language. His auto-shop students were young, hardened by work and life, and eager to please my father. My father, in turn, was quiet and difficult to please, but I was his only daughter, and I did not have to try. I lacked the eagerness to please and the eagerness to learn the parts of a car. As a child, I was more interested in digging up worms in the garden and scratching moss off stones.
By Kira DeSomma 4 years ago in Fiction
Ugly Magic
We went out to dinner, my aunt and I, to a little Mediterranean fusion place squeezed between two hotels and buried under a thick layer of scaffolding. The table was a bit sticky, and the menus were wilted, but this could be blamed on the heat. The other patrons were loud and a bit rowdy -- this could also be blamed on the heat. After an hour of sipping ice water and devouring papoutsaki eggplant, (“Where do you think you would like to travel in your life?” my aunt asked. “I would like to see the living bridges of Meghalaya, and the starling migrations. How about you?” I asked. “Oh, I’d like to see the northern lights,” came her reply) I was about ready to leave. Then a man outside sat down at an electric keyboard and began to play jauntily.
By Kira DeSomma 4 years ago in Humans
