She Was Sitting In My Front-Row Seat Holding My Novel — Smiling Like She Had Stolen My Life

about writing at night.

I spoke about mothers and daughters.

I spoke about how a house can hold both memory and captivity.

I spoke about women who had been taught to apologize for taking up a chair.

My voice did not shake until the moderator asked about the title.

“What is the glass orchard?”

I looked at the crystal glasses on the table.

Each one caught the continue reading …