The Lawn Worker Heard Crying in My Basement and I Knew Something Was Wrong

Green filling her notebooks by lamplight while Cassandra checked her window from the dark, and Riley holding onto a box of old sketches for eight years because she couldn’t quite let go of a friend who had supposedly chosen to disappear.

I thought about the hidden F in the curve of a silver leaf, and my daughter drawing my face over and over in a room continue reading …