Family and Relationships
your legs clasped like irons around his torso pinch me if you need to breathe he says before diving toward the cement floor his long arms gliding like a manta ray keen on kissing the sea bottom your bodies settling into the quiet like an anchor
The breakfast rush was hitting its peak when we learned about the dead woman lying not far from Table Four.
My friend Gina and I have a pact: Should either of us die unexpectedly, the other will retrieve the shoebox of sex toys hidden in the deceased’s closet.
The first time he calls the talk line, it’s because he wants to die. Whatever has happened in his brain has made him a stranger to himself.
I was still exploring my power to hurt others and was continually surprised by how potent a single sentence could be. I watched my mother’s face waver and then crack open.
