Six Hand Drawn Sketches from the Summer of Nineteen Ninety Two

his old green wool cardigan, the one with the leather buttons I had sewn back on during our second year in the house on Eleventh Street. When he saw my car, he let the shears drop against his thigh, his eyes narrowing through his wire-rimmed glasses.

“You should not have driven up here, Martha,” he said, clearing his throat with that dry rasp he always continue reading …