MelindaMelindaMelinda
The van sinks and rises like a massive ship on the salt sea. The older women chatter like birds in the front seats. There are six of us: five married, one not. Naturally, the women begin to talk warmly about their husbands and children, relaying doting anecdotes with droning ease. Melinda does not say anything.
I do not say when they ask, "I am married, but working on not being that way," which is my usual answer, routinely followed with a feigned laugh and lingering silence. Melinda says suddenly as we pass a stretch of sunflowers on the side of the road, "I've seen a lot of pretty things this morning. I jus
Plate Full of PancakesPlate Full of PancakesPlate Full of Pancakes
The sounds around me swell. Tongues of a dozen different countries eat the same deep fried food deprived of all love and the warmth
of a meal cooked for more than a faceless hand full of money and earning potential. Even the man sitting across from me-once a lover-becomes part of the palpitating noise, the smothering, shaking sound of men distancing themselves from their hearts, from the part of them that still burns for their brothers, still says hello and good morning and warns others o
--
Meow, you're feisty!
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