Contributor: Brandi Gaspard
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We were both dealing with a lot of things that summer.
There were the physical things, like:
1) how your missing left hand made you hide in long sleeves, even though they stuck to your skin so heavily in this southern heat.
This wasn’t too much of an issue, though, because we spent most of our time sleeping, or watching your collection of tapes.
The blinds were always closed.
2) how my own hand lacked any sense of tact, even with the best intentions in mind.
The first time we shared sleep, I could tell that you were uncomfortable by the way you forced your breathing to be still, and quiet, and so I traced my fingers down your arm to make you feel better. But it was late, and dark, and I moved too close to what we didn’t want to acknowledge as gone, and I felt your chest sink. So I asked if we should...
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Author:
Brandi Gaspard
