By: Courtney Beardsworth
I was the only stranger falling between the cracks of black and white. it was clear 1963 was over as the smoke lingered. numbers were counted backwards from ten in Czech. the women danced by as I looked down at my legs. I feared the obvious (the necessary). two separate trains were paged and the second hand stopped. my heart beat as a stranger asked for the definition of home. I wondered if my grandmother cried the same tears of feeling stuck somewhere between lower case and upper case.