Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

standing by the mailboxes, her red coat bright against the grey concrete.

She was holding a green plastic pot with both hands, her head tilted up toward my balcony.

“She has a plant,” Clara said, appearing at my shoulder.

“It looks like a cyclamen,” I said.

“They do not like too much water,” Clara said.

I watched Evelyn set the pot on the bottom step and continue reading …