In the summer, when school was over, we picked mulberries in the yardand spun in circles on the grass.It was soft and living, warm on our bare feet,and every day the sun was lightening your hair.Your mom, she was playing Brian Wilson, and we listened to his brothers intervene.  In the summer, when we were older,we smoked kreteks in the streetand the road between your … Continue reading Doorjamb by Chris Cocca