My father called me his Irish prince and gave me candy to go to school as all girls-tomboyish or not,expect their dads to do. He filled my head with fairy-tales ,so that everything would end happily and made aisles in my imagination,so he could find his way back, before getting lost, because, unlike mothers he didn't have a built in,plead resistant map of the child's vivid imagination.
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Preface to Stella's life/love story
PoetryStella Smith was one of my younger characters. Her story and this poem, I think I have long outgrown, but it should have as much a chance of acknowledgment as the others. I was twelve when I wrote this in my journal. I didnt put the date but I can...
