July 2010
4 posts
Firm Against the Pattern
When I saw Charity dancing alone in the farmhouse kitchen— eyes closed, lips parted, held aloft in one hand half a mango, a gigantic butcher knife clutched in the other—I froze at the screen door as I always do when I come upon someone praying. All night I had been hitting on the daughter of a tiny woman orphaned by Hiroshima. Grandparents had been lost,...
