At My Father’s Funeral, My Brother Announced He Was Selling the House

those keys for thirty years. Inside the clear window of the fob was a tiny photograph, creased at the edges, the image a little faded.

Me at age five, gap-toothed and squinting into the sun.

He’d been carrying my picture all along. I just never thought to look.

Marcus checked himself into a ninety-day treatment program in New Jersey two weeks later. A continue reading …