What:

"My sadness is like my brother's hair. It grows past my shoulders. Sometimes a strange woman with a nose ring who smells like sandalwood will want to touch me for it. Now and then, as my brother does with his hair, I pull it back or hide under a hood or big hat. I cut it off myself. But it grows and grows. People have gotten to know me from blocks away by the way it grows. "

Writer: Patrick Rosal

LCC:

Where:

Date: May 21 2015 11:58 AM