by Ashly Curtis My best friend and I ice skated on the kitchen floor,twirling off wooden chairs, gliding across tilein our pink ruffled socks. Salchows, Lutzes, evena rare triple axel or two. It was 1998. Olympic season.We held up handmade signs in the living room,blocky marker letters cheering on the figure skaters;Tara Lipinski etching beauty with her blades, carvingballerina. My Read More
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Putting On Face Cream In Front Of The Mirror
by Ashly Curtis She’s not dead yet, but someday—my fingers tremble at the thought, performing my nightly ritual.I dip my middle finger in the soft white bowl and smear youthon my cheeks, nose, forehead, chin, stick out tongue at my reflectionin the glass, like she did at me when I was her mirror.For a brief moment, I call her spirit Read More