I begin with a drone.
I begin with the reflection of my face as I sing to the framed photo of a volcano erupting.
I begin with my mother—how, this summer, as we drove through the humidity and jasmine and river-smell (not quite fish, not quite algae, not quite salt) she told me I had a twin who died in the womb.
I decide she’s a sister.
Ghost sister. I begin with a drone and narrate from the voice of the ghost sister,
…………..ghost double. Continue reading “Auto- by AM Ringwalt”