{thompson ave, where every house is lit up}
On October 13 last year, I sat in the American Embassy in Santiago, Chile, watching the miners being rescued on CNN, feeling my baby hiccup and kick, and eavesdropping on the consul interviewing my husband for his visa. We were in between seasons, in between continents, in between imaginings.
Within a month, we said our goodbyes, sold off bits of
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