I don’t remember who owned the shabby cabin, or how we knew it squatted unoccupied across the state line, an hour’s drive with
I kept telling my teacher that I don’t know this minuet. Only my hands know it, only my fingers and how they stretch the
Funneling to a point like the mold of an upside down birthday hat: Armadillos, my neighbor said, scratching a waxy ear. Little armored ones,