The paper cut

Just as getting a paper cut, the pain I experience, passing by this spot, this place of my birth, everyday, is an annoyance.  The initial shock of vulnerability is faster than I can gasp as I look down and see a line of red.  Pain does not always surface but acknowledgment of that wound brings … More The paper cut

By the trash

I don’t know my mother nor my father. I don’t know how to be a daughter. It’s been told, to me, I was found nestled between a pea patch and the compost bin behind the city’s most coveted building. An architectural shrine to the city of beauty, art, music, science, religion and attraction that temps … More By the trash