from Above the Houses
Susan Engberg |
Your fingers test from the smoldering, plum-colored center of impact down to the eyebrow, the swollen lid. It's just a bruise, one more thing. Reaching for your toothbrush, you grimace at your mirrored self: shiner, spiky new haircut, the shocked face of upheavalin short, a sight.
He appears behind your image. Even now, in his gray sixties, your husband's face is fresh, like a precious child just up from a nap. "My God, what happened to you?"
Two weeks ago, just before the move, he said the same thing about the hair.
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