Sublet Emily Kedar I come back to find my grandmother’s pink geraniums dead. The only living being that knew us both and had no tongue to lie. I drag my finger across the glass face of the coffee table. My thumbprint warped and elongated, presses down into dust. I rearrange the stones I’d left on the window sill back the way they were. The coffee grinder’s bust, so I head out into the light snow of morning, my feet landing […] Continue Reading
