Mila Pantelides Sola

Late spring and a strangers camera: everything sticky and hot and sparking. The picture you took of me in the basement that night. I heard the lens shutter before I saw a flash, a thunderstorm, holding my breath and counting the seconds between the sound of your voice and your lips moving and how I […]

68 Mill Pond Lane, the house of stained doilies and grape leaves. I used to lie on the cold tile in the kitchen while she cooked. When I was older, she let me play in her bedroom. It smelled like mold and rotting fruit; her carpets were damp and sour. She let me play with