sister who had my picture for years before i knew she existed. a 19-year-old-mother, she still couldn't let go of dreams of father-daughter dances & slumber parties & what family should be like, so our father disappointed her. and so did i.
I'm a cook. And I write, sometimes about food, mostly poems. I make stuff. I get lost. I'm worried about vanishing bees, melting icecaps, the decrease of civility in the world, seedless watermelons, and whether there will be enough time for me to get it all right.
1 comment:
Wow. What a story there.
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