Displaced

Displaced

At age 7, I used to lay on the grass lawn of our suburban home, head cradled in my hands, staring at the clouds drifting past.  I was acutely aware of the sounds reaching me and they would begin pulling pieces of me to their sources; the dog behind the house barking,...
Cinnamon and Sparkles

Cinnamon and Sparkles

  “There’s cinnamon in there…sparkles and cinnamon.” M laughed. I rolled over onto the New York Times Sunday edition spread out on the floor.   The sun was streaming in and M was staring at me with a look of wonder. “Your eyes are dusted with cinnamon and sparkles.”...
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