The midwife puts a rag in the dead woman’s hand, takes the hairpins out. She smells apples, wonders where she keeps them in the house. Nothing is under the sink but a broken sack of potatoes growing eyes. She hopes the mother’s milk is good awhile longer, the woman up the road is still nursing. She remembers the neighbor and the dead woman never got along. A limb breaks. She knows it’s not the wind. Somebody needs to set out some poison. She looks to see if the woman wrote down any names, finds a white shirt to wrap the baby in. It’s beautiful she thinks— snow nobody has walked on.
I love this. And I love it when women, particularly, remain true to their own school and style. This is how humanity evolves. Thanks for sharing, Mike.
I love this. And I love it when women, particularly, remain true to their own school and style. This is how humanity evolves. Thanks for sharing, Mike.
Agreed 100%