Hortense, her Gown

As Hortense cloaks herself— butter-soft hands, beneath a nest of silk and cotton wraps, her gown, the same morning sunlight that shrouds the same swelling sea, hides itself from her intimate past, not ancient history, mind you, but the prying eyes of yesterday, bloodshot and ruined from their struggle to see at all, much lessContinue reading “Hortense, her Gown”