Hush

At the Common Ground Country Fair, I finally get to babysit a real baby. “Push her around in the stroller for a while until she falls asleep,” says the mother, a friend of my parents who runs the spinning booth. I feel like I have been given the doll of …

You-Are-Not-Mad Lib

Bunk Beds

When I think of that winter, I think of the emptiness of the mattress above me and the sounds I stopped hearing from underneath it.    My sister was a loud sleeper. She tossed and turned a lot, often banging against the wall against which our beds were pressed. My …

The Frog in the Hall

There is a frog in the hall, sitting on the banister post. He arrived in my child’s hand and now sits patiently, and because it feels rude not to acknowledge him, I make eye contact. I give a little nod to the frog in the hall as I shuffle past with …

Butterfly, Fly

They walk along spiraling paths under the domed ceiling of the garden pavilion. She is four. She isn’t supposed to, but it’s hard not to. And so, she does. Touch them. A broad leaf. A wandering branch. A soft flower. So much spilling out and over. Gentle. One small finger …

Housing

You’ve taught me to watch for things. The bees making the penstemon go swaybacked. The look of a primrose when it’s about to uncurl in the night. The white flits at the end of evening grosbeaks’ wings before they dive into the larches. Kinnikinnick and lazuli buntings, Pacific wrens and …

Descent, Interrupted

cw: suicidal ideation   It is the spring semester of your senior year. Sunlight warms the sidewalk, damp with dark patches of melted slush. You hook your thumbs into the straps of your backpack and walk to campus. You’re in the center of Standish Park, a square block of benches …