The voice from our body, after all, is just a cover for the voice inside our head.

Will someone someday read this and know she was beautiful and good and kind?

Cartoons taught me to laugh at violence. To see it as pattern, rhythm, inevitability. But back home, the patterns were bloodier.

As I drift to sleep, I wonder who the real me is and who’s the imposter.

There is a backstory here, of course, to how they became Husband and Wife.

It’s a question I have long thought about and resolved. Of course, I’m Black, I think.