A milk jug, handle turned in, was all it took for father to lather, a barrage of curses decrying our lack of worth, foaming from
Begging, this story, brimming over bursting out I suck in, hesitate ending preset message elusive crushed beneath weight of subjectivity.
Formative years were more destruct than construct; contradictions riddled the foundation of our familial structure: one man tyrannized five females while in the news, women
Thank you to the Story Circle Network for accepting my story: Hoping to Be Missed. I am excited to report that I won first place
School days meant up-before-dawn, carpools across town, tuna-sandwiches and rotting bananas shoved in brown paper sacks. Then home by bus – exhaust, the stench of
The house is brand new and we move in without our mother, who is in the hospital getting our new baby. There are three floors