My life’s a tangle of past and present, like two separate puzzles with their pieces tumbled together. Nothing fits.

Happiness is free, Mama says, as sure as the blinkin’ stars, the withered arms the trees throw down for our fires, the waterproofin’ on our skin, and the tongues of wind curlin’ the walnut leaves...

I take my hand back, like a leaf letting go. It hurts too much to hang on. So why does it hurt so much to let go?

I know so many words. It’s perplexing to come across so many I don’t.

My emotions swirl like leaves caught in the breath of a dust devil, and the only thing I can seem to hold onto is the anger.

My sister don’t talk much. When she does, it’s only to me, in moth-winged whispers, and only when we’re alone.