. . .

I’ve known love as often as I’ve known the pace of a robin as it hops across dewy grass; as often as I’ve heard laughter from the second subway car or balcony, the best friend, teasing; as often as I’ve tasted my mom’s breaded chicken cutlets after soccer practice. On American lawns, on each grainContinue reading “. . .”

Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started