My mom would collect my laundry, so I wouldn’t have to do. Any plates or forks in my room, she would get those, too. My room was pretty messy, but she’d always clean it up. I never picked up the pop ...

“I write in praise of air. I was six or five/when a conjurer opened my knotted fist/and I held in my palm the whole of the sky./I’ve carried it with me ever since.” So begins a poem by the British ...