Class
I remember one evening in the 1970s my father saying They should write on my tombstone: “He didn’t like To be leaned on.”
He was a dab hand at epitaphs. His
November
Where is my dear sixteen-year-old cat I wish to carry upstairs in my arms looking up at me and thinking be careful, dear human Sixteen years. How many days since I found you as if an urchin in a snowstorm and you moved in assured learned the territor