My Granddaughter Asked Me to Stop Sending Her Father Money and to Follow Him

like dust and cold concrete and the particular sadness of a place not meant for human habitation being used as one. A battery lamp in the corner threw pale light across a twin bed, a folding table, a hot plate, and a wall.

The wall stopped me.

Every school photograph of Ivy. Every gap-toothed smile, every class portrait, every casual snapshot. Seven continue reading …