Lyssa learns her new scars by tracing them in the mirror. Still raw and puckered between the stitches. She holds her breath and counts until she can’t look anymore. Yesterday she made it to twenty-seven. Today it’s only eight. She wraps her stomach back up and goes to feed the baby.
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Photo by Eric G.
photo by Pekka Nikrus
There’s something either chocolate or caramel on my arm from where I held the patisserie bag.
The ducks are splashing through the part of the park that goes underwater when it rains. I think how so many people believe life’s secrets can be found in nature.
Here is a duck fluffing its butt. Nothing elegant or mysterious there, just the echo of nature justifying “Do what you can, when you must, and try to survive.”
But really, is it honey mustard?
The Wordsy 
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