Growing Up with Weapons

When I was five years old I was made to follow my daddy around acres of hedgerows, up and over levees, through cornfields and woodlands, an empty 4-10 shotgun in my little arms, a watchful eye on me at all times, ready to jump down my throat if at any moment I became...

A Real Boy

I woke up feeling drowsy and stiff and instantly felt Papa chipping away at me, a little at a time. I tried to focus in on what he was working on today. I hear him talking about negative space, revealing the beauty inside, so I keep waiting for him to dig deep enough...

A Musician’s Tools

I have on the wall in my therapy office an old African detergent can with a cruddy piece of stick coming out of the top strung with some found wire. Most folks consider it an odd art piece, but in actuality, it is a living life lesson for my musician clients. As a...