This is not about the abuse

This is not about the abuse my father smells of the forest— slight rot of tree root, streams as they melt over rock & limb. when I was little, I’d press my face into his work shirt, perch my feet on top of his. we’d waddle around the kitchen like that, a balance stable enough … Read more

Two Dolls

Two Dolls One Saturday evening, eight-year-old me was in Toys “R” Us, choosing between two similar dolls. Both of them were Barbies. Both had a yellow Labrador with searing blue eyes, who wore a silver collar that hooked onto a blue leash. Both had a silver feeding bowl that came with a white bone. Both … Read more