“The Children Aren’t Smiling,” by Jordan E. Rosenfeld

My 8th birthday. No one means to tell the truth in this photograph but it can’t be stopped, its slow seepage rises up like flood waters. First glance offers happiness: all smiles, such good times.

You’ll find me bottom left, crouched in a pout. The full effect of my costume can’t be seen: not the Flamenco skirt and my mother’s brown boots, the lacy shirt and the veil atop my birthday hat. I marched out back, stuck hands on hips, but nobody even turned a head. Continue reading →