This is a grief memoir on fire in Mozambique. It’s a long love letter to a younger sister, a Peace Corps volunteer. The writer, Jamy Bond, was also a Peace Corps volunteer. She opens with the beeper and the Peace Corps’s notification system for a serviceperson’s death. It bridges the writer’s professional and personal experiences in this wonder of a piece. Take the time to absorb the all the heartbreaking beauty here:
https://www.thesunmagazine.org/issues/362/what-feels-like-destiny
Bond’s been published in several places that’ve rejected my work. Rightly so. Bond’s Therapy, in mac(ro)mic, is both edgy and clever; it’s also full of longing and small steps forward.
Prayer for the Living in Pithead Chapel again focuses on the death of her sister Shelby, but Bond zeroes in on hands (Hands Across America, hands at the end of milk-white arms, broken hands) for this piece, weaving sensory details of then and deftly bringing us into the now.
I cannot get enough of Jamy Bond. Read her fiction and creative nonfiction here:
