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Hope
For hope is a breathing thing
Living against odds or logic
Burning bright when all common sense
Means to drown it
The beating of a well-intentioned heart
Foolish, hurling itself against the sky
Sun and Moon
Look down in pity
Sofia Barrow
In the darkness, Frankie Carter drove her spade into the weed-choked, spongy side yard of the house at 61 East Avenue. She dumped the spade full of dirt onto the mounting pile. The scent of spring, loamy soil, worms, sprouting grass, and rain hung in the cool air. Soon, the lilacs would bloom and fill the air with a fragrance that only ever reminded Frankie of her childhood. Tonight, hope and possibility swung through the night sky like a pair of birds.
Olivia Maxwell, Frankie’s business partner, stood by, bossing her. Peering into the hole,