Brittle Nails and a Disputed Greenhouse in Autumn

to think a body could go so dry and cold just because one small gland in the throat had stopped its work.

Robert had seen that weakness as an open gate.

He had watched my hands shake and thought the land was already his.

I looked down at the coffee table where the glossy retirement brochure had sat for weeks.

Donald had thrown it into the woodstove the continue reading …