windbreaker, family, loss
Aimee and I wear ours at eight in the morning-alone. The night before, Mom had weaved Aimee's lightning-blonde hair into a tight braid. But now in the morning light, Aimee looks like an albino Klingon or something, random hairs flying from her head like alien antennas. Her light blue windbreaker pulls tight along her bird shoulders as she slides into the passenger seat.
"Four Blue Windbreakers,"
Inscape: Vol. 38:
1, Article 13.
Available at: https://scholarsarchive.byu.edu/inscape/vol38/iss1/13