It falls from my binder, cherry crayon streaks ripen in sun, LOVE RILEY— a valentine from my son, three weeks before he died, cutout
It falls from my binder, cherry crayon streaks ripen in sun, LOVE RILEY— a valentine from my son, three weeks before he died, cutout
I can think of worse things. It’s windy in your head, she says, but I like the soughing in my mind. Thoughts blow through
