After the hot soup kettle had been scrubbed and set to dry in a wooden sink, after the dirt floor had been groomed with the tracings of a broom, after the last embers in the stone hearth had been shut behind clanky iron doors, after her mother kissed her forehead softly and shooed her to … Continue reading Miriam

If only…

We lived on Market Street. We lived among the remains of society who slept in its doorways and covered the sidewalks nightly with pools of misery smothered in silence. We were one of them.