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Her Husband’s Eyes
Day 1. Justine says, “Lean back.” Justin obediently pushes back on the arms of the leather recliner. She places damp gauze pads on her husband’s eyes and says, “Here. Hold these in place.” She gently drapes a bag of frozen peas across his eyes and forehead and sets the kitchen timer for thirty minutes. He says, “Thank you, my dear.”… Read more →
Mile Zero
0.0 This is the essence. This is the thing. 0.1 There is no way to do this except through. There is no way to start this without starting first: you cannot know how to run these miles if you have not run—there is no imagining your toenails falling off after purchasing ill-fitting running shoes, your feet sliding from left to… Read more →
Vulnerable
My dad grew up in Bird Island, Minnesota in the 60’s and 70’s, though with the picture I’ve made in my head it could be the beginning of America: man, woman, 5 boys, farm. It’s the wind. And the dirty kids in fields picking rocks. In cities the dirt is new, the wind filtered through AC vents and the exhaust… Read more →
Go-Go Boots
This is what you give a dying man: half your cheesy mashed potatoes from Boston Market, none of your sweet potatoes with mini marshmallows melted on top, and a rash of your go-go routine to CeeLo Green’s “Satisfied” in a pink fringe dress shedding sequins like pollen from its tassels. Your dress doesn’t quite cover your bum, so normally you… Read more →
The Cookie Crumbles
MEMORY “My first memory of kindergarten,” I say to my older sister, “is sweeping out the playhouse. And the nap. And snack.” Yawning waitress sets down steamy mugs of tea. “Cookies’ll be right out.” “I don’t remember kindergarten,” sighs my sister. Nor today’s trip to the Memory Clinic, or the tissue-stuffed purse in her hand. “Would you have a Kleenex?”… Read more →