Sofia Vasquez

Twenty-one days.

I hear her first before she comes into view— feet tapping on the stairs followed by the muffled thump of her stuffed bodega cat trailing along. She steps into the doorway rubbing her eyes with a fist her Spider-Man pajamas creased the red vein beneath her collarbone faintly glowing like a night-light she’s unable to switch off.

“Abuela " she murmurs, "the trains have started singing more.”

The spatula slips from my hand my heart skipping. I gather her ...