I’m kicking off my new blog with my first entry in the a-z challenge.

Generally I would post photos and personal essays in this type of challenge, but this time I am also going to add short fiction and poetry.

Naked black hangers on a scratched white pole.

Clean strips on the otherwise dusty shelves – you took your own books and some of mine.

And you did a final wash.

Neatly folded shirts on my side of the bed.

Actually Sadly. All sides are mine now.

But no note.

Not a bit of scribble on a scrap of paper

No why. No where. Is there a who involved?

And in the oven the sunset colored clay cooking pot still warm.

My favorite lamb dish.

Succulent, browned, falling off the bone readiness.

Cooked down in spices and the dried apricots plumped in sweet wine.

I pop one in my mouth and bite down.

Sweetness. Meatness.

How much planning went into all this?

Days? Weeks? Months?

And did you have to take the apricots from me too?

Their scent and taste to forever remind me of your absence.

A cold heart planned this last hot meal.


2 thoughts on “Apricots

  1. Vivid, strong images! I wonder if that was part of the punishment by the one who left to remind the one who stayed how much comfort the leftee provided with such things as good meals and clean clothes.


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