I am naked and wearing a football helmet.  in many ways, I am the memory my son has of taking a bath.  a picture doesn’t last any longer than it takes me to look at it.  when it’s my sister I can hear her pointing out

assaulted
places.  poor places, poor puppy.  I don’t know why I am a child.  my sister has no problem listening to herself.  her last blank book had only a title, a running joke she quoted from and called shower days.  to date, my son has had one seizure.  he shook the provided angel.  my body was at a press conference.