Seems every farm family had one in a generation; a distant misfit girl-cousin who read too much or wore men’s jeans or hated to cook. As soon as she could, she traveled away to Portland to work in a library or to Tucson to be an artist. The family only whispered her name then, kitchen … Read more
You had a plan for how this would go when you left home. Longing for a thing different than how it was. Maybe a career or a husband. Maybe the perfect sofa because you wanted to rest, blanket around your feet and a tortoise-shell cat like the one when you were a kid, lounging … Read more
So convinced of her isolation, she had become its primary cause. So exhausted to chance, she had retreated to a fine-tuned invisibility. So work- hardened by test, she had proven she could carry the pain. Better to be alone than a fool. Held apart so cold lack seemed a choice instead of a failure. … Read more
Hair caught up on wire.
Finding the way.
Lethargy. Sweltering with a non-specific stickiness. Flies. More flies. Dilly-dallying. These are the wilting Dog Days of Summer, named for Sirius, the Dog Star. No connection to the napping habits of dogs so deflated by the heat that a sploot position on the linoleum is the smart choice.
Preacher Man is having a good summer. I haven’t been able to find the toenail clippers and sometimes a good day can be best described by what doesn’t happen.