When I came in the front door from work, I found my five-year-old daughter hopping and gyrating around the living room like she was covered in fire ants. “What are you doing, sweetheart?” I asked, tossing my briefcase onto the
“He doesn’t want to see you,” her father said. “His parents called us,” her mother said. “I love him,” she said. “He wants to be with me.” “You are only fifteen,” her mother said. “He doesn’t want to see you.”
At night, that’s when the moans start. I lay in bed, thinking about the day, no money, worries, how to pay for the new house. Tiny though it may be. At some point I drift off. Then the moans start.
He didn’t see the dog until it was too late. The shaggy beige stray darted across the highway right in front of his car. He felt, rather than heard, a sickening pop, and saw the small body rebound off the
Everywhere I go, I see them. I can’t get away from them. Last night when I was bathing Mama in her tub, she said Go close the curtains, son, I’m in my altogether. So I went to the bathroom window