For months, I’ve stared at the grainy ultrasound on my daughter’s refrigerator. But on July 30, that black and gray image came into focus. Francesca Blanche Coleman arrived, all 8 lbs., 1 oz. of her. The moment I held her in my arms – little pointed chin, rosebud...
Hieroglyphs for Meghan I bob and weave in the winter-laden street retracing the hill I climbed each night to bring on labor. When I step back and squint I see the rooms that sheltered us exposed to raw December. Pale and clammy, our house has shrunk. The siding’s gone...
