Her eyelids close. Her deep lashes touch the
highest part of her cheek & my hips, my
hips are building a thousand
figure eight motions

into a kitchen full of scattered

lavender buds & rugs the color of sandalwood
& eyelids of such delicate souls. Eyelids
that have sixteen small rivers that don’t flow because they're not
rivers, they're skin softer than the milky

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Keeping Out the Riffraff

As the Braniff International Airways flight banked over the red tile roofs of Asunción, Paraguay, heading north, I dropped my head into both hands. What would America feel like? How would I fit in? I had spent most of my nineteen years in Paraguay, where my parents were Mennonite medical missionaries.  Now in August of 1970, I was off to go to school in America, the land of promise and opportunity...

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