My People
I am from boys and bike ramps, from curly hair, unruly in the damp heat, cut short for taming. I am from flower beds and rich loam; growth of things unseen
Virgin Snow
“Oh God – Fish!” Tommy screamed, skipping in full-tilt panic on the bank, screaming for the dog to pull herself to solid ice. He watched, helpless as she struggled, paws flailing, splashing the slushy water and trying to gain purchase. Tommy’s prancing got him nowhere, so he stepped onto the pond to try and reach her, another forbidden. Each step past the tree line brought the cracking and creaking his parents warned him of.