We were knee-deep in packing paper when the cherub's head fell off. The day before we'd driven nine hours. We'd only spoken through three. Now we were in the home we had to make. Thank God, he said. That hideous thing. I know it's hideous, I said, but I loved it. I did.
Inch Issue 19 - Winter 2012
Issue 19 - Winter 2012
Copyright © 2013 by Emma Bolden
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission