published in Volume 2, Issue 1 on January 20th, 1995
Sister makes me cheese sandwiches with the plastic wrap left on the cheese. This is the year mom goes to buy peaches and never comes back. Our kid years evaporate inside a radiator cap off a tireprint in Kentucky -- for an introduction to a man called Dad in a Baltimore bowling alley. This is the year summer is hot soup, and Sister wraps our blankets in the freezer. She has the wide forehead of Grandpa. Mom would tease her. She's 14 years old, hates that I sneak into her bed. She burns the spaghetti, ties my hair with her barrette. She can't know she'll be pretty: scraggle-fuzz, just ribs; that in two years Mom's heart will sweat from inside her hips.