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I think about Octavia Butler all of the time, but especially today1 2 orange park (before the divorce): an old trailer that my brother accidentally caught on fire with a zippo lighter when he was three; the dirt road that would (eventually) get paved. me—old enough to crawl—eating out of the dog food bowl; easter with my mother, brother, sister, grandmother, and an aunt; a yellow ribbon tied around an old oak tree. there was a new trailer afterwards, but how long did we live there? i remember baths in the large garden tub of my parent’s bathroom with his and hers sinks on both sides; the emerald green carpet that ran through the entire trailer; the dirt road wouldn’t be paved until years after i left the state; the same dirt road where I threw a rock at my brother and left a scar; the living room with a fireplace where my sister would play “airplane” with me; my father’s favorite chair, where he would bounce me on his knee; the smell of tobacco smoke from his pipe; the gleam of the…