The number of nights I’ve spent alone crowd the grass like fallen green apples. They are years spotted, bruised, and wasting. Not a spell or a season,   but a lifetime—a good life with a brick house, libraries, a surprise party for my thirty-third birthday, leather boots, Fela Kuti, and mercy dressed   in my…

I wear a gown that ties in the back; this is how I am sure I am sick. The nurse can’t be more than a few years older than I, smiling as if we’re friends while I grip closed the gape of my frock. Laying down on the narrow carriage, I think it’s a bit…