We stepped beyond the museum,a sinking cabin with weeds webbing between the splintered logs,as though they had every right to exist;an iron pump rusting beside a butter churn,a pushpin thrust into the spongy ground.This was once someone’s home. Stones snapping beneath...
On our last day in Lisbon, he wanted to find an Irish bar so that we could go and watch some rugby match that was on, but we were supposed to be learning to communicate, and like the therapist said, he was supposed to be listening to me and also hearing me. So when I...
