After she wiped off the spots from the kitchen wall tiles, scraped the stains from the counter, vacuumed the breadcrumbs from the floor . . .
Glancing up from my iPad, I am grabbed by a startling sight.
The phone shocked me awake at 3:06 and into a March pre-dawn.
No discussion. She proceeds to fill the second bedroom with her art supplies.
When I see the fly-flecked carcass of the snake on the country road, I don’t stop my bicycle to check his scales for a pulse.
“Where can I find some socks, Aza?”
My mother’s eyes meet mine in the oval mirror over her vanity table.
I’m fast as lightning, fast as She-Ra’s rainbow-winged unicorn, a blur to anyone who sees me.
I didn’t want to see you.
Today I witnessed three squirrels keeping vigil, sitting beside a fallen comrade.
Out of change, the cashier gave us a lottery ticket.
My husband answers the call while we’re washing dishes. Oh my God, I hear him say.
I’m four and pat the gold globe like it’s a puppy.
It was my job to set the table for supper. After a day of baby-minding as the family’s au pair, which was all new to me, this was a chore I knew how to do.
Congrats! First girl to get her man.
Salty hair, burnt cheeks, heavy legs. Lulled by the waves.
I sat on his bed while he zipped his duffle bag closed, light filtering through the blue shark curtains I’d sewn eighteen years ago.
Memories climbed the walls, looking down with curious eyes from corners and cabinet tops.
My son leans into me, his hot body a hot brick against mine.
I inhaled sharply as the surgeon entered the room.