“Sir, your four o’clock is here.”
“Ah, the after-school special!”
“Sir.”
“Send them in, Ms. Jones-Berger.”
The door opens and the young man enters, stepping to the side and ushering in a small person about the height of a yardstick.
“Sir, allow me to introduce the lovely Honeysuckle Titus.”
The small person steps forward, hands clasped behind her. The pale pink dress wavers in the wind from the giant ceiling fan. The face lifts toward the man behind the mahogany desk….

The white crescent
half the length of a pinky
fingernail an inch
from my wristbone

The wrong shade of pink
on the elbow just below
the wrinkly part, fading
with every summer’s tan…