So silly of me it was, looking back—being nervous to meet Kathryn Stripling Byer. To be fair, I only knew her then by her poetry

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So silly of me it was, looking back—being nervous to meet Kathryn Stripling Byer. To be fair, I only knew her then by her poetry
My aunt is going through menopause. When she’s having a hot flash, sometimes she’ll acknowledge it in a shamed whisper while she fans herself; other
My favorite moments with you are when we’re rolling on the carpet and laughing. Your blonde hair catches sunlight from the window and shines like
My neighbors have painted their outside window casings red. Blood red. I don’t mean blood red that has dried to a soft, fall-like burgundy. I
“When I stand in my kitchen, and turn the knife with thumb and wrist into the fresh shiny stuff inside, I realize that, like the onion, life unfolds in a similar fashion. The petals of my own peel away collecting in a heap on my cutting board. I can see them better this way. They expose a new perspective on the past, pungent yet sweet on my tongue.” ~ Carrena Sherrill
“At what point do the parts we play– the social scripts we pick up in given contexts– become the person with whom we identify? What part of “I” is mine? And why? What does integrity mean for amnesiacs? These are questions which fiction allows me to explore as a girl who has been forged from a distance.” ~ Alina Stefanescu