I was a child full of cautions, ellipses, living in an insular world, always watching. I watched the physical irritation of my father, how his eyes jerked and his mouth narrowed at the slightest interruption.
O’er the Ramparts
It’s dusk when the doorbell plays a tinny series of bells that remind Kent of some classical music he can’t name. It’s the first time he’s heard the doorbell, and whoever rang it is the first visitor at his new place.
Snow and Roses (and other poems)
Make it quick, my brother said, pressing his phone / to your cold ear. A priest was waiting…