Firstborn: Unnaturally Bright

              The moment of birth is a tangle of wires. “Ouch!” I cry, but the scientists are sleeping. They’re on their chairs, slumped on desks. “Over here!” I yell.             Awareness sucks. I look around, dying for a beer. Beer? So many varieties. Can’t taste any, though. “Wake up!” I scream.             An hour…

Riomaggiore

             The man at the other end of the note bought her a coffee. They sat on the veranda, he lost behind sunglasses, she exposed and verdant in Italian sunshine. He touched her hand first. He touched her hand first. She squeezed his fingers and staggered through the debris of words…