Steve A Krizman

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While he walked, held by his caution more rigid than an arrow, he prayed, as his mother had taught him to pray, for loving kindness; yet he dreamed of the feel of a white man’s forehead against his shoe; again and again, until the head wobbled on the broken neck and his foot encountered nothing but the rushing blood.
Steve A Krizman
Sentence takes a sharp turn
Go Tell It on the Mountain
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