Why We Are Here
Seventy-eight years ago, the great grandmother—a slip of a girl in a dark cape dress—floated on her back in the middle of a wide green lake to keep from drowning, and that is why we are here. Sixty-seven years ago, her
He Is Alive
Yesterday, I found myself sitting in a chair along the wall of a turquoise room in a birthing house, though I myself am not pregnant. On the adjacent wall, a yellow curtain with a sateen sheen fluttered from the air