At My Father’s Ceremony They Said I Could Not Do Anything Right Until I Walked In And Smiled

it had been handled by someone who knew the difference between perfection and care.

I sat on the edge of the bed with it in my lap for a while.

Patchwork. Blue and yellow and green, colors from clothing I could remember in fragments. A sleeve from a dress my mother wore to a school concert. The hem of a curtain that had hung in the dining room until continue reading …