Joyce Fox

Despair, Joy and a Tiny Twinge of Guilt

The word black cannot be separated in my mind from “little” and “dress.” These three words strung together like amber beads that hold the past forever, fetch with them two distinctly opposite but totally inseparable feelings. The first is despair swiftly followed by joy and, if I’m not extremely careful, a tiny twinge of guilt creeps in. I blame Mother…

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