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


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