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,…
The Weight of Quiet Things
I spent this morning cleaning out the back of my closet and found a stuffed rabbit I haven't touched in twenty years. One of its ears is missing, and the fur is matted down from too many nights spent being squeezed tight. Holding it, I felt…