For three nights I, Iphigenia, called her mother. But she, in her red velvet dress, always kept her distance. Never having had a child, she could not fathom what it would feel like to lose a daughter to the gods.
I am one of many, embarking on this experiment. The idea is to write a short piece of poetic prose about 365 people I have encountered in my life, one entry per day for a year, using approximately the number of words, matching my age. I've stopped, then resumed, but I am resolved to take this to the finish line.