The Uphill Slide

There is always something.



I’m reading the assigned essays. They make me feel and see and want to touch. I’m transported into other places, other rooms. I’m inadequate to this task. Afraid of being outed. A fraud. A spy among real writers. Why are you here? You don’t belong. I want to belong. I’m Grandma Moses. Late to the show.

I walk through the door to my creative writing class.


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