I remember a new heaviness in my body, but maybe that's the work of time and my looking back.
My sisters and I stand on the deck, the shale tile cool against the soles of our feet - for a week it seems we never have to wear shoes - and take turns twirling, the matching turquoise silk skirts my...
Years later, I remember the waxy taste of the yellow paint, the papery taste of splintered wood, the sharp metallic of the graphite.
Dragonflies circled me, the sun knifing off the brilliant blues and yellows of their bodies.
In the books I find the thrum of everything unsayable. The characters weep the way I want to, love the way I want to, cry, die, beat their breasts, and bray with life.
The sight of a palm tree silhouetted against the sky made even his life feel like a movie
