Most of us hand off traumaslike traditions, the bloody, mud-crusted baton a father bats his son withbefore the boy takes it running off into the dark future. The pain of being humanrains down fire unto…
Posts tagged trauma
Harvestflies
I watched as my younger sister Gertie reached out to grab the cicada. I can see it now, plain as day, the copper-veined wings, the devil-red eyes. It was sitting on the woodpile against the…