feathers

One afternoon, when I was young, I found a swan’s feather by the shore of the boat pond, straight and white, the slight hard curve of a silhouette. I bought an ostrich feather in midtown, in a shop filled with buttons and ribbons, froth and tumble of extravagant curls. The peacocks running free at the … More feathers

the first death

I am so young that I can’t remember the world being anything other than enormous. The road from our apartment to the park winds too close to being a journey I can’t make on six-year-old feet. My father holds my hand as I balance on the curb. I must have walked so many miles that … More the first death