Between the Covers
Twenty feet in front of you, and you can’t see a thing.
They’re among the world’s greatest love stories.
Tray table in the upright position.
Nobody likes you very much.
Before you came out, you didn’t talk about it.
For months, your brain has been full.
Your dad sent you a penny the other day, minted in his birth year.
One person. Two, twelve, twenty, you can still feel alone in a crowded room if it’s a place you don’t want to be. People say, though, that that’s no way to do the holidays; you’re supposed to Make Merry, even when your heart’s not in it. You’re supposed to feel happy, no matter what – even when, as in “The Dogs of Venice” by Steven Rowley, the Christmas tinsel seems tarnished.
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