There’s a Fist-Sized Hole in the Kitchen Window

It’s that kind of day where you pray for a whisper of a breeze to kiss the beads of sweat that sting your eyes. You don’t move a muscle, lying on the dock, fingers trailing in tepid water. The lump of a secret too huge to swallow grows in your throat until you think you’llContinue reading “There’s a Fist-Sized Hole in the Kitchen Window”

Looking For a Home For One-Dozen Egg Yolks

I use my fingers, letting the white slip down into the bowl, leaving the glistening golden globes one at a time cradled in my hand. So easily done—what once was whole has now been twain.