by Kristin Fogdall | Feb 21, 2021
When I tell myself this story, all the action takes place under an empty sky. Neighborhood bungalows stare blankly into space; no one cutting grass or walking dogs. I might have been with Andrea, or maybe just alone, walking home from school; long concrete stairs cut...
by Kristin Fogdall | May 2, 2017
In the chemical light of afternoon, our bodies curl over phones, sprawl slightly toward windows, holding empty forms, as if it’s test day. Once we were boys and girls. A faded poster says we’ve shed a thousand skins since then. Outside in the...
