You wake from a dream and for a brief, unsettling moment don’t know who you’re meant to be. Both the waking and dream worlds are equally true in that liminal space. The pillow you’re holding and the lover who just left your arms have the same ontological weight. No less real than the room gradually…

Just heard Grandma let out a rather sudden hiss that cut through the afternoon quiet like a blade through silk. She is sitting alone at the kitchen table, no book before her, no radio playing, no conversation partner to provoke displeasure. Yet something has reached across time to touch her – some fragment of memory…