Are you Listening? (Mine to Keep)
On a not-so-lazy Sunday afternoon I was getting about ready to burn all my paints, books, pens and beads all to the muddy, dusty yet green Midwestern ground— —until a voice that sounded like a vivacious, ginger-haired, eighteen-year-old version of myself crawled into my room like a spider and made this razor-sharp and poignant sound: …