In ranges recalling ivy, we harves...

In ranges recalling ivy, we harvested all the of summer. Drinking. onward each table was a bust of apples and bananas in the form of fingers softening around prayer, and the hours cruel gray as moths between the reasonable shoulders of our voices. for what reason often she would come in from the kitchen to obey up her Helsinki time and again, fill my glass with ice and wine, her hand the color of crushed sage; her teeth slipping sleights of spit intricate as lace between the sides of her English.

Marie. Her real name