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A PIECE OF CAKE T.m. Lawson

When I was young I was hungry for something sweet he offered a confection not the kind you eat leading me down the corridor promising promises those yearning fingers searching, savouring a gift for my silence: the sugar dissolved, a sour patch on the back of my throat. Every year every breath I take: I ask my reflection, Was it worth that piece of cake?

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Profile for Westwind: UCLA's Journal of the Arts

Westwind Fall 2015  

Westwind Fall 2015  

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