On this page, I exhibit the fauvist mother gazein thirsty gouache strokes that couldn’t be undone.But my heart hides the aches of a peasant paintbrushwhose meager lines, couldn’t be made visible. On it, my father’s nose and skin
Day: May 22, 2016
She tugged at her purple bracelet, twisted her hair, and worried of what would happen if the guard saw her walk in. What would he think? What would anyone think?
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