My grandfather told me a version of this story: he picked it up in Krakow. My uncle heard it in Cambodia, and my sister in Rwanda. My mother pretends she doesn’t know it. I’m telling it to everyone so no one can say they didn’t know.
- Green Pastures
I couldn’t concentrate on anything except for the feel of my grandmother’s hands squeezing mine until it felt like the bones were shifting over each other. Her skin was as slick as lily petals.
- At the Stroke