Elena Kane

Twenty-one days.

I awaken to my daughter’s voice singing in the darkness.

Not a lullaby.

Not a children’s song.

She is performing the melody.

The secret that trains murmur when they believe nobody is paying attention.

The one who vows crowns and crayons and eternity if only she agrees.

I’m up before my eyes have completely opened Alexander already stirring next to me both our bare feet touching the wooden floor hearts pounding as if we’ve been sprinting endlessly. The ...