This month we offer red velvet, beef knuckles. Next month, we dwell in:
Spirals.
Submission guidelines can be found here.
return to sender
I arrive home from work on a cold February afternoon as the sky darkens. On the porch I find a bag of beef knuckles for the dogs in a familiar-looking bag. When I realize it’s from my lover’s mother, I rush inside.
“Your mom dropped by!”
This is a good sign.
It isn’t until later that I find the unopened Christmas gift at the bottom of the bag. The pretty green and white wrapping paper I chose so carefully is soiled with grease and blood from the bones, but miraculously, the red velvet ribbon is still perfect.
This month we offer red velvet, beef knuckles. Next month, we dwell in:
Spirals.
Submission guidelines can be found here.
return to sender
I arrive home from work on a cold February afternoon as the sky darkens. On the porch I find a bag of beef knuckles for the dogs in a familiar-looking bag. When I realize it’s from my lover’s mother, I rush inside.
“Your mom dropped by!”
This is a good sign.
It isn’t until later that I find the unopened Christmas gift at the bottom of the bag. The pretty green and white wrapping paper I chose so carefully is soiled with grease and blood from the bones, but miraculously, the red velvet ribbon is still perfect.
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