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Stacey Brown
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Whichever Way the Wind Blows
Photo Credit to my Incredible Half-Sister-In-Law, Crystal Brown I know... It has been too long. I realize that the irony is thick around this one, but I was busy writing so I didn't write. Here. (Rolls eyes... Takes deep breath.) Life gets in the way someti...

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Consumed
    She stared at the plate as it cooled to a congealed, unappetizing mass in front of her. The pomme frit no longer crisp, the filet gone icy in its pool of pink juices and her hunger waned, un-sated. No matter how many times she tried, she couldn’t replic...

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Of Bangles and Silk
Photo Credit I have a gypsy shadow… She rises from the steam of my bath, curling, twirling, spinning madly, arms raised entwined above her head. The tinks and clinks and tiny bells upon her skirts hypnotize my busyness, slow me down, calm my buzzing brain. ...

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Watercolor by Quincy Brown I see you… I see your intensity, your smiling eyes, your mouth pursed as you create the life you imagine through your art and your writing. I see your desire to do right, to choose wisely, to make us proud. I see you… I see that s...

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Getting Affairs In Order (Short story: Long post)
Photo Credit: Creative Commons She was there, kneeling on a low gardener's bench, her aged hands gloved and working steadily, a large brimmed hat with a festive floral ribbon pulled down on her greying head. She alternated between the small spade and her ha...

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Mourning Light
They were gone. The noise, the warmth of their multitude, the chatter of their voices, low and reverent… It was all gone. Now the silence invaded, creeping slowly along the hardwoods, seeping in through the cast iron vents, trickling into her ears and down ...

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What you don't see….
The early morning light creeps through the slats in the blinds. Tinged petal pink and innocent, it reflects nothing of the darkness it endured in the hours prior. My body is awash with relief that another night has passed and another day is underway. I can ...

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Colorblind
Photo used with permission from Antonio Ysursa The bus rocked and tipped along the narrow dirt road, crammed to the rafters with the small brown people she had lived among the past year. Even from the concealing folds of the modest hijab she wore, she felt ...

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Briefly
Photo Credit: http://woodennest.tumblr.com/post/66372025456 Maybe it was desperate. Maybe not. There was something about the moment that needed touch, as if tactile affirmation could somehow coalesce into the forgiveness she was seeking. It was an olive bra...
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