Folded Sky

Near the end of the three-hour drive, the car packed to bursting with clothes and Ikea shelves and collapsible laundry hampers and extra towels and chargers and everything else a freshman in college could possibly need, we stop in Milford, Connecticut. We get sandwiches at a Subway. It's just my mother and me. The bridge… Continue reading Folded Sky


Turning From the East

My compass rose is a one-story green house on a street called Prospect, with a red mailbox and three bushes and a Japanese maple out front. Above the square white garage door are mounted three white tiles with a ribbon pattern and the numerals 4, 7, 5, beneath gutters that invariably clog with leaves in… Continue reading Turning From the East