Rae Rose and I’d ask her to tell me that same story about undocumented workers in our desert town listening to the water, the…
Rae Rose that writers make things real, writers describe an ocean so people who have never seen it can understand it, the night…
Rae Rose Skinny as tree limbs, we began to grow curves as if we were turning into musical instruments. We hid our mandolin hips…
Rae Rose The neighbor would bring his horse to our pipe corral, and I would hide under the almond tree. I knew it should…