|I dropped my infant brother on his head, and although he screamed for two
hours, I didn’t tell anyone; the lump went away before anyone came home.
I rifled through the bedside table until I found dirty magazines; I
I watched from the darkness of the landing as he told my mother he didn’t
I read his email when he left his laptop on while he went to the store.
I saw the cat’s collar glint in the headlights before it thudded under my
I sobbed alone in the elevator on the way back to my hotel room; we were both flying home the next day, me to my empty house and him to his husband.
I fished his cell phone out of the toilet and put it on the bedside table and didn’t tell him.
I slipped the photographs under the front door of my ex’s parents’ house
The accumulated weight of what has gone unseen is more than I can bear.