daughter

After the death of the dictator, his son wanted him embalmed. His son wanted him on perpetual display in a glass box.

Three nudes crudely drawn. One crouching, 

back turned, right hand feeding the turtle 

of the painting’s title; another sitting, as if in a chair,

head bowed, eyes downcast; and a central 

How long I’ve dreamt of you, teenaged and long-legged, lying on our porch, 
your mud-speckled sandals kicked off to the side, watching a tree slowly split 

Rochelle and her mother lived in a large town that was on its way to becoming a small city. On her way to school, Rochelle often stopped to watch the crews of construction workers erect a new house in the hole where, only a few days before, one of her neighbors’ houses had loomed in sour glory, a car parked on its front lawn, silk flowers sprouting along its foundation like hair plugs.