Sunday, March 30, 2014
Tuesday, January 14, 2014
Wednesday, November 6, 2013
Outside the window the rats struggle in the grass, squealing like an unhappy tennis match. My wife smiles at the sound; she figures it’s nature.
She gets up to put her cake plate in the sink but stops halfway there to inspect something in the carpet.
“Is that a bloodstain?” she says.
I don’t look at her, pretend I’m enjoying this Smithsonian.
She sets the cake plate next to the lamp and approaches. “Bleeding?” she wants to know. “All over again?”
“It’s nothing,” I say, and my fingers reach for my nose. “It’s just the weather’s so dry.”
She drops to a knee and puts her chin in my lap. Her nails pinch the seam in my pant leg. “You’re ok,” she says, to reassure not her nor me.
I don’t tell her what I couldn’t know, and the rats play tennis. My wife grins, the lamps burn.