Reflections

February 21, 2017

I keep a small, tarnished silver spoon in my kitchen drawer, its handle worn smooth by the grip of a grandmother I...

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February 21, 2017

The smell of cinnamon always brings me back to a kitchen floor that was perpetually cold against my bare feet. It is...

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February 20, 2017

There is a particular kind of hunger that does not ask for bread. It is the hunger of the watcher, the one...

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