shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Michelle S. Lee

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Some Other Season

It rained the night she burnt the chicken.

She ran into the street, into the push
of black water, into another night when summer dripped
down their cheeks and she swallowed all

of what he told her even though she lived
in some other season, standing inside windows
and watching thunder break pines and pool

in plastic chairs on her front porch and moving less
than the tomato plants tied to the stake. The smoke
alarm wailed like wind behind her, though there was

no fire. Only onions charred
to non-stick and blackened thighs, scalding
pot left on the stove.