Nana hit you over the head with a hairbrush.
Your grandpa and cousins “played” with you too.
Gail left you in a different country to raise three kids.
You want me to ease you, both of you. Doula, you into Jesus’ arms.
My special place.
My quiet space.
My cheek on a warm inner tube floating on the quarry pond.
The soft cornstarch dirt between my toes.
A tender heart can still be violent.
Choice, my choice.
The little girl who had the prettiest mommy in the world
The one she was going to save, sends her