My mother had cigarettes and coffee for breakfast and spaghetti sandwiches for lunch. My father returned from church slamming the bulletin on the table angry about the damn nuns up on the altar who weren’t supposed to be touching the communion in the first place. My brother took inventory of their ability to guide and raise us and verbally expressed the brutally obvious while acting out in his own destructive ways. I played records in my room and was the silent observer, often praying that my mother would not die and leave me in the chaos of our little house with no one to turn to.
All content is original. I am the author and speaker. I am the composer and pianist for the underscoring, CIRCULAR SKETCH.