The Bride Asked for My Taste. I Gave Her a Wedding Gift She Couldn’t Return.

inside.

Healing came later.

In Charleston rain.

In my mother’s paintings rehung.

In women calling Hart House from bathrooms, parking lots, hotel suites, and borrowed phones.

In my own name on a door.

In laughter that did not ask permission.

In dancing with a man who never once called my strength cold.

As for Grant, I heard he once told someone I had destroyed continue reading …