False Memory

  We’re too damaged to go back now, left a little too far open, lost moons, the open box-cutters with a blade that shines like glass against your hair, your eyes, the feeling of blade to skin. Watching you, this is how a river feels— too cool, too fast, a...

Anticipating Her Arrival

  I have asked my husband, What do you think she will look like? He frowns, and I know there is no answer. Not right now. All I know is beauty: crows bursting from a field, a candle flame, a gust of wind after rainfall. These things are beautiful, imprinted...