hello, again to marigold-scented mornings and mirror-hazy dreams where ten years later leaves no crumbs to grow stale in half-ajar...

stop—don’t say it—i see that look on your face. you’re perturbed, aren’t you? displeased? your eyes bore holes through my jittery foot...

Fluorescent lights tattoo my wrists as I wander into the laundry aisle, allowing my outstretched fingers to brush bottles and buckets of...