little worlds

To listen to “little worlds,” go here.

In her kitchen, Gloria pours us each a cup of coffee, asks if I want anything in mine. Cream, sugar — the usual. I resist the urge to pretend I am reuniting with my grandmother, in the same way I tell myself the hummingbird sipping at the feeder is probably not my father, and the 6-year-old riding her new bicycle isn’t the child I never got around to having. But what can I say? I want to spackle each absence with its opposite — the vivid buzz of French roast, a…

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