shadow

Lines Written in Fever

From the morning kitchen in the musty basement toilet, I hear the lovely women's voices rise, then laughter and I imagine their tangled hair falling into their faces, then deeply octave confessions to each other of their woman things, their human things....

Though summer's almost lost to the indifferent afternoons that sailed past, the liles open themselves; they last and last.

of 5 stories this month > Get unlimited stories
You've read 5 of 5 free stories

Only $1 for your first month.

Get unlimited Monitor journalism.