Somewhere in between mouthfuls I look up. I look up and catch your eyes across the table. Mid-air, hovering wet. Break. Break. With a breath I pluck them both, scoop them up from somewhere above the water pitcher, and put them in my pocket safe. Blinking, we continue. – Punch…

Today the students in the genre project were given secrets and little personal pieces of the puzzles that will become their writings. The cardboard Indan woman performed the ceremony. She is a cardboard indian because she has old scraps of paper in stead of Buffalo skins, she has paper and…