“Biracial, I think.”
Luciana glanced up into the mirror to see who had said it, but it was impossible to tell; the chatter of thirty-one, day-tripping blue hairs and silver tops muddled any trace of its origin.

No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. It's Just One Planet. But There Are Many Stories.
“Biracial, I think.”
Luciana glanced up into the mirror to see who had said it, but it was impossible to tell; the chatter of thirty-one, day-tripping blue hairs and silver tops muddled any trace of its origin.