Home Wrecker

And this is how we danced: our mothers’ white dresses spilling from our feet, late August turning our hands dark red. And this is how we loved: a fifth of vodka and an afternoon in the attic, your fingers sweeping through my hair—my hair a wildfire. We covered our ears and your father’s tantrum turned… Read More Home Wrecker


her grandmother called her from the playground “yes, ma’am” “i want chu to learn how to make rolls” said the old woman proudly but the little girl didn’t want to learn how because she knew even if she couldn’t say it that that would mean when the old one died she would be less dependent… Read More Legacies