My Son Walked Across the Graduation Stage Wearing a Bright Red Dress While Hundreds of People Laughed. I Was the Only Person in the Auditorium Who Knew Why.
That is the right size for most rooms: the truth, then supper.
I drove home without a child in the passenger seat for the first time in eighteen years.
The house was quiet in a new way.
Not the quiet of a locked drawer.
The quiet after a long-held note.
In the kitchen I sat where the dress had been at 2 a.m.