The Drowned Boy
Just turned two, I play in the sandbox beside my four-year-old brother, my diaper already sodden under its plastic bloomer. I’ve discovered with much pleasure that if I pour sand in my hair, I can scratch it out, which I find ruminative and satisfying.
(Trigger Warning: graphic sex)
When I can’t run. When I can’t walk. When I can’t heave myself out of bed to get to the bathroom, when I have to crawl on hands and knees, my heart 180 beats a minute, barely able to breathe. …