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sure how, and even less sure
of what to say. I start to back
away, but Trey takes over for me.
You must be Hunter. Wow.
I haven’t seen you since you
were a baby. Damn. I’m, um …
Is Kristina here, by any chance?
Hunter—my brother—nods an
“oh, okay” nod, turns, and yells,
Kristina! Someone’s here to see
you. Beyond him, amazing Christmas
decorations swag staircase
railings, and the scent of turkey
roasting and bread dough rising
makes my mouth start to water.
A woman comes to the door.
I have dreamed of this face,
only a younger version of it.
Kristina. My mother. Curiosity
lights her eyes, only to be
replaced by sudden wonder.
Trey, she says. What are you …?
Then her eyes fall on me.
AT FIRST
There is no hint of recognition.
I could be a Jehovah’s Witness,
passing out literature. But then,
a rain:
Memory search
Denial
