There’s soup in the freezer.
And that’s the one. That’s the sentence.
Because that is exactly, precisely, word for word what you write for the woman who comes to feed the cat.
I was not left behind. I was provisioned.
Watered, like a houseplant, before they went on vacation.
I Need to Tell You How I Got Into That House, Because Otherwise None of the Rest of This Lands
My husband Arthur died in March of 2022. Fifty-one years. A heart thing, in the kitchen of our apartment, while I was at the market.
Four months later my son Daniel called me from Arizona and said:
“Mom, come live with us. I don’t want you alone in that apartment. And honestly, it’d be good for the kids to have you close.”
