By Dana Robinson-Wild She’s always right here with me, my little Hungry Ghost. Usually she’s 11 years old, sitting up against the wall in my spacious, light-filled bedroom of the low income apartment I grew up in. Her knees are pulled tightly to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. Usually, she’s crying here. Sometimes looking at me with anger, unable to comprehend how it is that I allowed something new and hurtful to happen to us. Sometimes she’s feeling lonely and needi