Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

in thin, pale curls against the dark cedar trees across the street.

I watched the driver carry three cardboard boxes up the steps of the building next door.

“Martha,” Clara called from the kitchen.

“Yes,” I said.

“There is someone downstairs,” she said.

I leaned over the metal railing, looking down at the small concrete entry.

Evelyn was continue reading …