She tells again how we’d put on Sunday school clothes and walk into town, crossing railroad tracks that stitched a black seam next to
It is a sin to pray for our dead, my mother said, your grandpa, aunt, sister, they’re no longer your concern. I learned what
Here I am living in Toronto, Texas cowboys loping through cacti, crossing horse troughs on Bathurst, toward Dundas Saloon, corral on Queen each cactus