by Erin Harer On good days, we dance. We sing Grace’s favorite songs while I cook a real dinner, with no boxes or frozen things, making our tiny redwood cabin smell like a home. We laugh at stupid jokes and let time pass without me having to force a smile or…
by Ian Johnson Rosie sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of her empty living room, unassembled furniture parts strewn around her like small towns at the base of a big mountain. She held an Allen wrench in one hand, the assembly pamphlet in the other. The tip of her tongue…