It was my favorite: the girl walked around the world in iron shoes. It was a way through. It was what she did to get back to him, return to him, the one she had looked at in the light.
The cover was a black and white photograph of a girl in a white nightgown standing on a lake’s surface, some arty class shot, her eyes closed.
And because I can do anything and do. I climb the glass hill. I clean the tallow from the shirt. I love. I write without looking back, because I have to, because I can't not try. I turn the wings into arms, each and every day.