Shape Poem by Erica Sternin

Erica Eight

I was eight and still cherished, and beloved, and the principal Continue reading



Photo credit:  Georg Sander

Photo credit:
Georg Sander

What if I were to tell you that when my mother left my father, we piled into our dusty red VW bus and drove to the Left Coast. What if I were to tell you that the last time I saw my father was forty years later when I hand delivered their divorce papers to him? Continue reading


Photo credit: Sarah Scicluna

Photo credit: Sarah Scicluna

Daddy takes a long toke on the joint, it sounds like he is saying “PSSSSST” when he inhales.

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