Befriending a couple is like arriving in a European town where the language[1] is unfamiliar to you. Schoolgirls sing near the synagogue of apricots,
of my left shoe, but don’t. Instead, I am ashamed of the way my entire torso lurches to the right with each step, my
A hyphen. I walk the plank between my two names —call me Esther. The Hebrew three-root letters mean to hide, hidden. A song, repeated.
Every day something green snaps by, in front, behind. Again. A hummingbird mother, her nest cupped in the rose bush next to me.