The world beyond the patio door is a fenced-in patch of baked earth with a sandbox made of railroad ties wedged into the back corner. The sun-bleached sky is an overexposed Polaroid. You are four years old. You run barefoot through the grassless yard while your mother slouches on the sofa inside the house, her glazed eyes staring at a fireplace that has never been lit. A fireplace in Phoenix is absurd. Your mother has…