No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story.
In this country, a father walks out & never returns. Truth! & a mother is a shadow. In the night, she covers the home
with her body. Her fingers are nimble for the tears she must hide.
“If Nadine got into Heaven, ain’t nobody going to Hell,” Sally Simpson, one of the girls she’s standing with, says under her breath...
Many a kid at Olympic High regarded getting Ms. Furr for English in the same light as a prison sentence, but for me, it was the best part of my day.
The smile disappeared. “You think I did it, killed Raina. Well, I didn’t. I would never have put Paul in that position. He’s like my boy, my beautiful boy.” She had come around the table and was standing next to me, thigh lightly against my arm, and with one finger traced a line on my face exactly where the scar was on her own. “Besides, I already have too many regrets.”
At an early age, they loved reading so much that they yearned to talk back, to join the discussion, to write.
He watched her hesitate for a second and wondered if this would be the time when she chose her freedom over him.