To write the last sentence of Mínervudottír. To write the first sentence of something else. To be courteous but fierce with her father’s doctors. To be a foster mom. To be the next principal. To be neither. She wants to stretch her mind wider than “to have one.” Wider than “not to have one.” To quit shrinking life to a checked box, a calendar square. To quit shaking her head. To go to the protest in May. To do more than go to a protest. To be okay with not knowing. Keep your legs, Stephens. To see what is. And to see what is possible.
