That’s just not what I remember, she says.
What would make you say that?
Doubt, dark and stinking like mold, spreads.
That’s just not what I remember, she says.
Pinching the bridge of her nose and frowning, on the exhale she suggests-
I shake my head, I insist—trembling palms pressing taut thighs, voice flat.
That’s just not what I remember, she says.
What would make you say that?