Writing practice starts

there was a time when my father fancied a new stethoscope and eased it from the packaging cradling the diaphragm breathing the rubber perfume until it warmed almost to the temperature of my mother’s skin the tubing bland and unassuming as a mud snake

in the corner cupboard a white bowl full of shadow and dirt and withering small potatoes arms like weak tentacles reaching out toward the others’ dimpled bodies and heft brought out in to the light they look cold as if the dark had been a better womb the shoots chitter and catch at a neighbor as I try to separate them out for planting


~ by Anne Doe Overstreet on April 5, 2018.

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