Mother says I’m made of mud, eyes, and a little bit of the past. When she says this, she glances away as though she’s ashamed of what she did.

Mind the stones there. A centaur took out part of my stone wall in a hissy fit. Centaurs, what can you do, hmm?

The thing about regret was that it curdled. It couldn’t stand up to the harsh salts of traditional methods of preservation.

Chantilly, bobbin, guipure, knotted, knitted, on and on. Where is the floor? The door?

After an overnight double shift, I was in the shower when the phone rang. Dad had fallen and couldn’t get up.