Winter 2007
Hemorrhages, it was thought, do not appear for no reason.
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His eyes, dark brown and unwavering as he delivered the details.
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Mama would say beware of the little flaws that make one homely.
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My first girl, only sixteen year and she go, she run away to you.
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He doesn’t have to lie about oatmeal. That’s the way things are for him.
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Neither blood nor belonging accounted for my presence in Ghana.
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Perhaps he was not almost sixteen years old, but thirty-five and sick.
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