By Amanda Norman
She left her innocence in a vinyl board doublewide just south of that lonesome sierra, where stars shimmered shyly in the crisp New Mexico sky, where the Spanish monks chanted their Midnight Mass and the Natives bowed before Chimney Rock with restless arms raised, and tears speckled her glasses like desert snow — fallen to evaporate come early morning.
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Amanda Norman holds a B.A. in Creative Writing from The University of North Texas and an M.Ed in Teaching from Toulouse Graduate school. She writes fiction, creative nonfiction and screenplays that subvert the traditional zeitgeist of what a story can be. She lives in Dallas with her guinea pigs.