There once was a glassblower who lived by the sea. In the daring years of his youth, the glassblower would pull all kinds of strange and wonderful shapes from out of colored glass. He blew neon spires ... [+]
Originally published in Atticus Review
I know we've arrived home by the pine scent, and you almost smile as we climb from the car, saying, "It smells so good here." I agree, notice how thin your face looks now, and how your jeans used to be much fuller. We've had a severe year, without pause in the trenches, and I can feel the strain in your teeth and shoulders: those shoulders your parents taught to hide from confrontation. You need three days to relax, after countless doses of forest medicine, administered one dropper at a time. At the waterfall, I have trouble parking the car and it reminds you of your other problems, all