ANNE HODGES WHITE

It had been perfect, this chambered nautilus.

Unless you're a science junkie -- that is, you research (and write about) how the chambered nautilus evolved to move vertically, how trees move tons of water hundreds of feet from roots to leaves, or how a potter creates space inside a nascent pot -- you may not be interested in this question: How does the North Atlantic gyre, that great counterclockwise oceanic movement of air and sea, convert its circular template into arcs around sea oats on a North Carolina dune. I'm cur

A week later, the goat-man moved downstairs to LuLu’s bedroom closet, its uplifted arms poking out from under uneven hems like it wanted air, relieved like everybody else to be out of the One Night Room. I played in the closet, making up my stories. A maid waited imprisoned, a prince climbed her long braid up into her tower, and he stole her away. I stroked the maid’s long brassy hair, hair I wondered if I’d ever have. I sneaked looks at the goat-man’s wicked face.