Leigh Gallagher is fiction writer and teacher.


After Robert changed, I learned to see everything two ways: first I saw the world in my seeing way, and then I saw it through Robert’s unseeing. Black prisms, headaches, noise rushing, control surrendered. 

Kansas makes a grainy square around us. In the passenger seat, Robert faces the winter fields mounding along the highway like a sad brown sea. I sense him feeling his way toward the sun. Sometimes he’s this to me, a plant on a sill; other times he’s my husband again.

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