by Andrea Lynn Koohi James Coleman My daughter learned the word helicopter on a sunny afternoon after a man fell in the ocean. He’d been leaning off a pier, perhaps showing off to friends, when he lost his grip and fell. Of course we didn’t know this at the time we saw the helicopter, red like a sudden cut on a flawless skin of sky. It circled the vicinity of our Airbnb, each loop an opportunity to repeat the word, for Molly to run, nearly tripping, to the window, to giggle