The school called. “Your daughter hasn’t been pick…

hands.

It was not easy.

It was not cinematic.

It was not a montage of healing set to music.

It was a life.

My clean gray apartment disappeared under evidence of childhood.

My drafting table moved into a corner.

The living room gained a pink plastic castle, a low white art table, bins of blocks, picture books with torn covers, and glitter in places glitter continue reading …