He’s waiting in the red Colt to pick up Rachel from her teaching job. She’s good with the seventh graders, the bright ones sprinting toward Ohio State, the ones who will drop out in a few years, the ones who will be pregnant soon, the ones who will die early in knife brawls or absurd …
He kept the things that were best. Things blue, and white, and the colors of skin in Caracas, Buenos Aires, Toronto, Cincinnati, San Francisco. He kept them poorly; he threw away the translucent box cover for the book on the body I’d given him, the one so dear I returned to the shop’s shelves my …