
Forty Drafts in the Glovebox
A letter I've rewritten forty times, folded in my glovebox, taken out only at the gas pump. Tonight the handwriting didn't look like mine.


A letter I've rewritten forty times, folded in my glovebox, taken out only at the gas pump. Tonight the handwriting didn't look like mine.
My dad's to-do list is still held to the fridge by an old magnet. Nobody has crossed anything off.