Today, I’m twenty-six. But I never thought much about what that means. It means I’m also twenty-five. And twenty-four. And seventeen. And ten. And five. And one. I never feel like my new age on the day my previous age retires its crown. I don’t feel twenty-six today. I still feel like I was yesterday. […]

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"Eleven" by Sandra Cisneros

What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that when you’re eleven, you’re also ten, and nine, and eight, and seven, and six, and five, and four, and three, and two, and one. And when you wake up on your eleventh birthday you expect to feel eleven, but you don’t. […]

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a prayer for Pancho

Pancho Gusto is a gentle person. He’s an older man, probably fifties or early sixties. There is a weight of something like guilt in his lovely green eyes – a physical feature he’s unable to explain since both of his parents were full-blooded Mexican. Pancho is a war veteran. Which war, I can’t quite remember […]

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