She was a latch-key kid. Walking home from school, she’d stand and stare at everything that moved, from the large-headed crossbills extracting pine seeds with surgical precision to the bald eagle practising its clean downward swoop for the hundredth time.
her shadow slips through
the railing's shadow
‘As a child, you must have eaten a lot of sweets,' her dentist declares. All she remembers is waiting for the opening of the front door – her mom, late again, flustered and apologetic, carrying a box of chocolates.
the earth becomes