written by: Genie Nakano
Running through wheat fields and skipping stones across the river are not my childhood memories. My turf is a concrete city project playground filled with chain linked fences and swings.--where I fall in love with the boy next door and beat up the boy down the block. Boy crazy is what my mom called me.
I steal my mother’s Maxfactor red lipstick in the first grade. When I’m ten—I’m fifteen and when I’m fifteen I’m twenty one. My imagination grows as big and wild as a jungle. A broomstick is my palomino pony and I can lasso Mars.
Urban living-- it’s not so bad. At night when all the smog settles-- the moon shines as bright as a silver bell.
to the moon
I am here