Grey clouds loomed over our heads with condensation in their flesh Scaring away the sun that we wished sat there with us. The brisk...

You stare at me with the eyes of dementia. Why do you avoid me? Look at my blue cover and black spiral stairs, do they scare you?...

My mother would ask me,  “What do     you     want to be when you grow up?”  She’d tell me,            “You can do...