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  • Author: Tracy

This bed I’ve made

She curls into a hot parenthesis against me, tiny hands and feet twitching in ballet dreams. I gather the bedclothes over a wisp of porcelain shoulder: flanneled sheets, down comforter with a sueded duvet; February, and the weight of bedding has not been altered since the winter prior. “Mama’s bed,” she’d whispered before squirreling in,…

Not available in your grocer’s deli

Michael: “What the hell is ‘v-a-j’?” Me: “Stop playing dumb, you can’t expect a five-year-old to be a perfect speller. Obviously, she’s asking for some old vadge.” Michael: “I’m really disappointed in that spelling.” Me: “Frankly, I’d always thought fresh was preferred. I’m just relieved to discover there’s a market for the well-seasoned vadge. Tick-tock,…

Hitched

In a half hour, we will be married. The Marriage Commissioner and photographer have yet to arrive, Krista time still to firmly, lovingly harass me into the gown, but just now, after an 18-hour ceaseless lashing of rain and wind, the sky has suddenly gone sweet and dry, and we burst onto our soon-to-be altar…

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