The Weight of Small Things
It is 3:14 am and the house is holding its breath. In the dark, the things we usually ignore become heavy. A stray thought, a flicker of movement, the way a shadow stretches across the floorboards—these are the things that keep us awake.…
The Salt of the Current
The water was always colder than I expected, a sharp, biting ache that traveled from my ankles up to my spine. It smelled of wet earth and something metallic, like a penny held too long in a sweating palm. I remember the sensation of grit between…
The Weight of Small Shoes
We are all passengers in the architecture of transit, waiting for the iron pulse of the tracks to pull us toward a horizon we have not yet named. There is a particular gravity to a child standing still in a place built for motion—a small,…