kathleen radigan

Met my father in summer at some wedding. She won’t say if they kissed or felt clairvoyant twinges during Vows.

Since my mother lives inside me, I bake a lemon cake and frost it with a blunt knife. In weeks of frizz and fat rattles I knew her as my Other. We’re two people, she said. Start hardening. In autumn she taught me to use a shower. Hot bullets over her breasts. Our bathing suits […]