Dangerous Compassions


“It’s going to be a beautiful day,” Mom told me this morning.

“What kind of beautiful?” I asked. 

We spoke of wind.  Of a restaurant in Nipomo called Jocko’s that we used to go to when I was a kid.  I checked their menu online, looking for something I could eat.

In the room we’re staying in is a book called There Is a Carrot in My Ear.  Last visit that phrase was our oft-repeated phrase.

Mom’s making muffins.  “Muffins are just cupcakes without frosting,” I said.

By Laura-Marie

Good at listening to the noise until it makes sense.

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