Lila by night My daughter lies curled next to me, her warm, softness impressed into my side. Her head rests on my biceps, one thumb jammed into her little mouth, the other thumb and forefinger plucking, plucking, plucking at my elbow. She has developed a predilection for elbow skin. She frantically seeks it out, like an addict – that sweet, bony apex of a crooked arm, so satisfyingly pyramidical, so ripe for the plucking. The neighbour dropped by the other week. I was standing in…Continue Reading “Lila by Night”