By: Kristina England no one likes a prophet. My father keeps thinking he’ll die, dreamt himself gone long ago, says forty five, fifty then sixty three, the years dancing around his father’s grave, etchings young on that stone, the grandfather I…
By: Kristina England no one likes a prophet. My father keeps thinking he’ll die, dreamt himself gone long ago, says forty five, fifty then sixty three, the years dancing around his father’s grave, etchings young on that stone, the grandfather I…