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This bed I’ve made

She curls into a hot parenthesis against me, tiny hands and feet twitching in ballet dreams. I gather the bedclothes over a wisp of porcelain shoulder: flanneled sheets, down comforter with a sueded duvet; February, and the weight of bedding has not been altered since the winter prior. “Mama’s bed,” she’d whispered before squirreling in,…

Hitched

In a half hour, we will be married. The Marriage Commissioner and photographer have yet to arrive, Krista time still to firmly, lovingly harass me into the gown, but just now, after an 18-hour ceaseless lashing of rain and wind, the sky has suddenly gone sweet and dry, and we burst onto our soon-to-be altar with…