Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

gray hair gathered in a plastic clip that didn’t quite hold the weight of it.

“I wondered when you would find me, Martha,” Helen said, her finger tapping the armrest of her wheelchair.

“The postmark on the parcel was from your neighborhood,” I said, sitting on the edge of the narrow vinyl visitor chair.

“Arthur told Gerald you would continue reading …