Cold Comfort
Mom died on Tuesday. On Friday she returned. I slept until eleven that day (it had been increasingly hard to get out of bed). When I finally shuffled into the kitchen, I saw her.
Mom died on Tuesday. On Friday she returned. I slept until eleven that day (it had been increasingly hard to get out of bed). When I finally shuffled into the kitchen, I saw her.
Sprung early from school in mid-May, Rose Wilson started her ‘wild rose summer,’ by boarding a VIA Rail train in Kingston, Ontario. This was the summer she turned 12, so this four-month adventure to Alberta included her parents and her three younger siblings.
At our Case Conference yesterday, you represented my ex-husband, but for a fleeting moment, I heard you advocate for me while attempting to acknowledge an injustice that caused you discomfort.
The bus stopped in the middle of nowhere. The doors wheezed open, spilling cold air inside. Vani gripped Vinita’s shawl tighter. She had been warm, curled against her mother’s side, but now the wind nipped at her nose.
Every good dish starts with sautéed onions,” my mother used to say. It was a maxim she followed in her home kitchen and it seemed to be true…
Tommy sniffs me at the door, the scruffy dog more polite than enthusiastic. One of his jobs is door monitor. He races back to the man lying in bed in an adjacent room.
The morning dew soaked through the pants on Hans’ suit. He was on his knees, both hands clasped in front of him, as if paying homage to a shrine.
Out of breath after climbing three flights of stairs to her new apartment, she muscled her way in the door and set down her heavy shopping bags. The apartment was completely empty aside from a few stacks of boxes against the living room wall.
My niece was a glitter girl, perpetually covered in multi-coloured gems from glue guns and magic markers.