Briefly I dwelt upon my mother’s tongue….as a fantasykind and intelligentmy mirage carries only myfeatures but none of myweaknesses
Yesterdaymy brother comes up to me,paintbrush in hand,eyes mischievous,grabs my wristtwisting gently so my palm layface-up in his.With careful…
I was no more than six when my throat first felt the clench of pressure
In day cast by headlights,shadows stumble over skin —butterfly-thin.
When I was ten and that butterypalm sized resin was placedinto my hand, I clutched it gentlywith my fingers. I wrapped it in cloth
It is summer. The child is barefoot. She is barefoot and scab-kneed in the creek that runs by her house. She smells slightly like mulch…