a retrospective and a pot of soup

ā€œIā€™m moving to India.ā€ Over in his swivel back chair, my father leaned back watching my face for translation cues, his eyes intent upon my own. Among the seven languages he could speak sometimes one of them was not Annelies. I hurried on in a torrent of words to back up this proclamation, to buoy… Continue reading a retrospective and a pot of soup