Guest Post by Robert Shelden
Moving swiftly across the schoolyard from the parking lot, I spot Paris in the center of the asphalt blacktop. She’s surrounded by a crowd of school officials. She’s squatting with her chin gently resting on top of her knees, her brow furrowed, and her bottom lip tucked under a new permanent front tooth. Her right hand grasps her left wrist, her thin pale arms wrapped around her bare legs. She rocks back and forth on her heels. One shoe lies on its side nearby; its coiled laces draped in the permanent puddle formed by daily sprinkler overspray. The other shoe is nowhere in sight.
Paris exudes defeat. Read more »