The Weight of a Wing
I keep a small, dried feather inside the pages of a book of poetry I haven't opened in years. It is a fragile, iridescent thing, a fragment of a flight I never saw, yet it feels heavy with the gravity of a season that has long since passed.…
The Weight of Stolen Light
I keep a small, tarnished brass key in a velvet-lined box, though I have long since forgotten which door it once opened. It is heavy for its size, cold to the touch, and carries the faint, metallic scent of a house that no longer exists. We…
The Space Between Us
I was standing in the grocery store line this morning when a little girl behind me started playing peek-a-boo through the gaps in the checkout divider. Every time I turned around, she would duck behind her mother’s coat, only to peek out…