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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 8, Number 2, June 2014


Genie Nakano
Hawthorne, California, USA


Running through wheat fields and skipping stones across the river are not my childhood memories. My turf is a concrete city project playground filled with chain linked fences and swings. Where I fall in love with the boy next door and beat up the boy down the block. Boy crazy is what my mom called me.

I steal my mother’s Maxfactor red lipstick in the first grade. When I’m ten—I’m fifteen and when I’m fifteen I’m twenty one. My imagination grows as big and wild as a jungle. A broomstick is my palomino pony and I can lasso mars.

Urban living—it’s not so bad. At night when all the smog settles—the moon shines as bright as a silver bell.

hollers to the moon
I am here



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