The cool, steady drip atop her crown renews hope of seeing her daughter.
Once, wet hair, matted and tangled, led to these chains.
Now she prays for it. One crack, the icicle will fall, piercing her skull, proving her sorcery.
“Oh and seven!”
Uncle Ben rocks off the couch to his feet. Pants unbuckled, hanging past his hips. He slaps the blue star on my chest.
“Ain’t no cowgirls here, son.” Turkey bits stuck between his teeth. “Go on back to Dallas.”
I normally don’t reward bad behavior, but Bryan was a wolverine tonight, shredding my father-in-law’s prejudice tongue with the steel blade of his words in defense of his new friend, Ahmed.
“Kiss my ass, Grandpa!”
We took him to Ben and Jerry’s.
Image by © Royalty-Free/Corbis
I came home to a man curled atop the roof of his car, my Rottweiler scratching at the windows.
“Duke!” He trotted to me, tongue hanging, tail wagging.
“How’d you?” I looked up to my husband’s wide grin behind the screen door.
My half-emptied water bottle droops to the side as the plastic melts. Water leaks from my ice towel, sizzling in puddles on the court. He tosses the ball up, serves 142mph down the center. I let it pass. Anything for a breeze.