"Who are you?" her mother asked.
"I'm your daughter, Alice."
"I know that. But I mean, who are you?" Her mother's eyes locked onto hers; she was clutching Alice's eyes. What did she mean
...
[+]
Lost in the light
of a laundry
room,
clean
air
invites me
into morning.
I sit
and hear the sounds
of whirling,
washing
and with it
I am
at peace.