ABSTRACT
Selena always remembered her mother’s sunflowers. Nine feet tall, bowing their golden heads toward the lawn, with yellow goldfinches hiding in their green leaves, nipping their striped seeds. In her earliest memory, Selena toddled over to the giant plants, tried to climb them, and cried when the thick fuzzy stems bent and broke under her weight. These flowers stood taller than she was, taller than Mama, even taller than Daddy, a long lean man people often mistook for a basketball player.
