Bless these hands that grow tired and weary. Bless these hands, which are dedicated to You. Bless these hands, which test and rebuild us. Bless these hands that are Yours to work through.
My name is Karina. My dog’s name is Mickey. My mom’s name is Lucy; I don’t remember what color her eyes are. Sometimes, I recognize a smile or a chin cleft of someone familiar flipping about in my brain, but then the face goes all different, stretching and pulling into an ugly, strange character, and I’m forced to sit with my beast—my invention—until Sticks comes down.
As an exercise, I try to name every member of my family, but things are…not as clear as when we started. I remember my brother Spencer, Cousin Tom, Aunt Claire, my mother Kelly, and my dad…Robert? Richard?
Sticks was gone for some time. Could have been minutes, or days, but now Sticks is here. We can hear the excitement in those steps; Sticks wants to get on with it.
The door opens; a bar of light hurts our ey…
