I washed the china dolls at sunset. The shadows were long in the room, and my husband bent over the piano, softly picking out a melody. The girls danced in the backyard pool, and my second son, he whittled soap with one eye cocked, and a nose deeply furrowed. I scrubbed. They had come all […]
Sometimes, Child, It Takes Fire
I’m ready to write about you now. You, who have moved out of me, and away. We burned the cord–the man who helped make you, and the woman who bore you–we burned it between two flames. Sometimes, child, sometimes, it takes fire to be set free.
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