Collarbone

by Bridget Cross

Originally published on January 1, 1997

It’s the way it bends when breathing I think and the way it flexes metallic and pristine and contorts a grin, landsliding, buried beneath some powerless skin. We are not a flaky family really. My mother cowers often and retreats well. The arms of her chair have like yeast risen and hold her hefty weight. [...]