Apr/May 2002

e c l e c t i c a   n o n f i c t i o n



Sand Memories
I didn't feel safe because they looked at me, looked at me right in my face, my profane face, the face I showed in their marketplace; I was alone, I was undressed, I was, to them, naked. They stared and they talked to each other, guttural, as though my name was spit: hawadji, they said.  
Kathleen McCall


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