Me, my sisters, my brother, the older cousins, the younger cousins, we squeezed in wherever, even in the crevice behind the backseat, meant to be the trunk.
All tagged sister
Me, my sisters, my brother, the older cousins, the younger cousins, we squeezed in wherever, even in the crevice behind the backseat, meant to be the trunk.
The phone’s ring pierced my mental fog as I lay in the hospital room.
My loving, difficult sister offered to come the weekend before my first child’s birth.
My sister lies dying. She cradles a rag doll. “It looks like you,” she says.
“Jill! Come over here!” My heart went dizzy, for I was never invited by my sister to come over here, or anywhere.
The towering tray of leftover Thanksgiving fare remained intact as I struggled to open the hospital room door. My sister sat poking cloves of cinnamon into an apple, hooked to happy juice.
There was this thing where all the animals in the world were gathered up to see who could climb a tree the fastest. Every animal was there.