Emma Kindall

derert scene


When I was a child, I learned you could find water in a cactus. Like milk in a coconut, I wondered how some things work. Like how come grandma and grandpa had a hot tub in Arizona?

When I was a child, I learned you could find water in the sky, and when the desert leaked all over us, my siblings and I practically sprawled out in the street. Like the egg on the sidewalk, or the lizard under your shoe after the long walk to school.

When I was a child, I learned the twins next door were getting hit. I heard the man in his garage yell at my mom for using his garbage can. I loved my grandparents like an ache in my side, because just like my dogs, I knew someday they would die.

Text by Julia Kindall