One of those trace memories from earliest childhood breezes through my awareness. It’s faint, all in pastels. I am sitting on the kitchen table with my pudgy legs and bruised knees swinging back and forth. I am so small that, shockingly, sitting on the table is permitted. Could be three years old. Could be 1948, the year Truman surprised Dewey. I’m tell…
© 2024 Susie Kaufman
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