Call Your Daughter Home

by Deb Spera

Worry is something I’ve never understood. What good does it do, except drain possibility from the day?

Polite make-believe is weary business, and there is no one better at this than Southerners.

Men can’t bear what women must. They jump to cry insanity as cause for a woman’s unhappiness; the utterance of the unutterable must be dementia. It’s just too much to consider otherwise.