The toothbrush has had it. Six bristles left to tickle out specks and scum, bent, crippled, and sad. The handle itself is made of rock,…
The child is throwing darts at an underwater target. He is like a secret society all by himself. His mother calls him to dinner. He…
With every hurt word, I hid behind furniture and nail polish and sweaters. I hid in lines, on buses, underwater. I hid in burritos and…