The morning sun warms our one-bedroom apartment. After bouncing from relative to relative, it’s just Mommy and me.
Your face is the first to fade from memory; still your voice, a bow caressing the strings of a cello, holds me close. Your scent, evergreens dipping to the sea shore, calms me on days when I cannot locate your name.
None of the women could recall when the lobster first appeared, his large claws clacking against the floor as he folded his laundry along with the rest of them.