To me you’ll always be the boy with the backpack, the boy whose daddy left him left us left meth in the tin house, the shed in the backyard and the two black dogs. Remember the dogs? Remember the pipe, the drawer, the cubby hole in the wall near the beach, and the cigarette smoke […]
Spring 2013
It was very cold. I dreamed of orange groves in Andalusia and small villages during siesta in Almeria. I turned the key in the lock and sat in the chair. There was a dripping noise, a dripping of water from a tank. I counted then waited, then glanced at the ceiling. I stepped into the […]