Lyssum presses her fingers into her forehead, tries to push back the frown lines she can feel gathered like pleats behind her black round glasses. She scowls at the mail, grimaces at the news on her phone. E-mail is worse, except for a funny note from her sister in Atlanta. Catches herself, I’m the woman fed up with everything, she thinks. She drops her packages on the kitchen counter, a large garlic bulb rolls toward the sink; the green sheaf of parsley peeks damply from a sack. Lyssum sees herself reflected in the window: black hair pulled back severely and restrained with bands and clips, long dark clothes in layers set off by silver earrings and a pin. I look like a nun she thinks and pulls things loose so she can breathe.
Continue reading “Remainders, Reminders by Bruce D Snyder”
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