Some afternoons I feel about myself
how the Kennedys must have felt about
their daughter Rosemary. A wildness
and all the ways I could never be
classy enough to pull off pearls or clam
my feral mouth. I’ve never had a butter knife
taken to any of my lobes,

Want to read the rest?
Please login.
New to Narrative? sign up.
It's easy and free.