The New Yorker @NewYorker
“I was seven. He was my babysitter. I wasn’t injured. No one knew. I knew. He was a friend of the family. It had nothing to do with math.” A poem by Chase Twichell. https://t.co/PvTUc4dUiV — PolitiTweet.org
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The New Yorker @NewYorker
“I was seven. He was my babysitter. I wasn’t injured. No one knew. I knew. He was a friend of the family. It had nothing to do with math.” A poem by Chase Twichell. https://t.co/PvTUc4dUiV — PolitiTweet.org