Jesus of Portland, Oregon by Meg Pokrass -
1. He reads labels. Even perfume labels. Rides the double-decker buses so he can watch from above. I poke at the halo around his shorts with my wayward finger. “You have strange ideas, Mary-of-the mushroom-teas,” he says, mussing up my hair, not noticing the finger, like, at all. 2. His eyes dilate when heContinue reading