It was 1962, Wichita, Kansas. My Dad surveyed the front yard—a very big front yard, a grim look on his face. "Weeds," he pronounced sullenly, as if our front yard had become the equivalent of a ... [+]
When you were two, we snapped this photo on the island. Back
when your hair tickled your shoulders and a widow in a floral
cardigan wrinkled her nose, patted your crown, and mis-
proclaimed, "such an interesting girl." It's the same carelessness
attending other glances, when lights merge to beams and starfish
mask as stones, grinding and bumbling surf through the foam.
"They can't run or walk," you sighed. "So they just dance."
when your hair tickled your shoulders and a widow in a floral
cardigan wrinkled her nose, patted your crown, and mis-
proclaimed, "such an interesting girl." It's the same carelessness
attending other glances, when lights merge to beams and starfish
mask as stones, grinding and bumbling surf through the foam.
"They can't run or walk," you sighed. "So they just dance."