Elizabeth learns to "bridge worlds", and to reject the idea of different worlds being separate in the first place.
She is a bottomless top-shelf gimlet.
She is built of bloody bruised knuckles.
There is a little whisper within you. It speaks discreetly, yet yearns to be heard.
They sat side-by-side—Dad steering, Mom in the passenger seat—each speaking Yiddish so my brother and I wouldn’t know what they were saying or where
we were going next.
No homework, more freedom; adulthood has its perks.
I inventoried, checked boxes, made graphs. It all adds up to nothing, zilch, nada.
I’m talking directly to the tiny little you who lives inside of you.
Heron, your indifference, your beak to the sky, your unmoving, ruffled stance on the crumbling seawall, your staunch you-ness, it’s so easy for you. To be you. You through and through.
