A Folding Cot Beside A Water Heater And One Bare Bulb Overhead For Every Winter Morning Of Childhood
I was nine when my brother became gifted, and gifted apparently required two bedrooms, one for sleeping and one for trophies. My things went into plastic bins…
Four Years Of Friday Mornings And Duct Tape Inside My Daughter’s Sneakers Before I Understood What I Was Funding
Six hundred and eighty dollars, every Friday at eight, for four years. The first time I set it up I cried, because I was finally the one…
The First Thing I Heard Turning Into My Own Driveway Was A Sound That Did Not Belong There
A dumpster sitting on the flower bed I planted myself. My sunroom already down to glass and splinters. My father in the yard holding blueprints, my mother…
Forty Envelopes In A Shoebox, All Stamped, All Sent, Every Single One Of Them Sent Back Unopened
I was stacking birch when the truck came up the gravel behind a car I knew. Five years of nothing, and then my son at the bottom…
A Silver Pen, A White Envelope, And A Room Of One Hundred And Ninety People Waiting For Me To Break
He tapped his spoon against the champagne glass twice and the room went quiet for him, because rooms had always gone quiet for Crawford Whitlock. He spoke…