Tired, so tired, held up by fraying strings, she’d drag us through throngs at sales. We’d shrivel, she’d fume. “Service! I need service!” Clerks could never shush her. At restaurants, …
Tag:
Odes & Laments
At the grade eight dance, they find you hiding behind folded lunch tables, seize your hands and feet, drag you across the floor like a mop. On the dance floor, …