I taste Tequila the first time with my sister; lip its ripeness from a dirty coffee cup. I don’t need the chaser of diet Coke. She pours each mouthful with hands trimmed in diamond rings. The unpawned ones shine like new dimes. When she drinks Tequila she thinks of invasions. We talk about parents and how they went akimbo of each other. I stand and walk around the room. It’s warm in here. We are all lost.
by Colleen Kolhoff Little of Kalamazoo