The city that never sleeps started to ​ become drowsy, ​ Those that could scurried away as the Apple fell asleep. ​ Holding tightly to...

I'm like a ​ memory lost from when you were a kid ​ sweet and sticky hands from a popsicle ​ stick ​ fire flies in a jar; hot hair;...

I was eleven years old when I made that mask. ​ Every Saturday afternoon my mother took me to Mrs. Tanaka’s art studio in Manhattan,...