No Trespassing
February 6, 2017Essay by Ellen Prentiss Campbell
I was nervous. Would she in some way feel that I had overstepped the bounds, appropriated her story?
I was nervous. Would she in some way feel that I had overstepped the bounds, appropriated her story?
The boy’s pulse listed as he helped me learn the jerk of the clutch.
Writing has saved my life on more than one occasion, although I didn’t realize it at the time.
I was the biographer of one woman, but I was also writing my own life.
Mother be forgotten, buffalo meat cut to strips to dry. The sun.
the priests—told the neighbors not—to sell their houses—told the white neighbors—not to sell their houses to black people—that to do so would be a beginning of an end
When my youngest son died by his own hand, my life shattered, and my faith crumbled.