“Did you see the news?” “No, doesn’t matter.” Irena shrugged. “Which is it? Did you see it, or it doesn’t matter?”
What was to become of my mother’s things? I couldn’t ask myself those questions now, only pack, box, tape, stack.
I used to find your face, 23 on every beach in Jacksonville
If I could feel nothing but the sequins, every edge scalloped along elastic, I would know everything