by Dalia Davis Flames cooled by blue tones. Rushing foam faces burst into song groovesswinging past stones. A jazz band of water nymphsquell fire arrows aimed for my heart bones.
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Thirteen Memories
by Carla McGill The First Memory—The Last Day of Fourth Grade It was the year that President Kennedy was shot. We were at different schools, but they were just a few blocks apart. When my teacher found out what had happened, she sobbed, her head on the desk, while Barbara…