The Flour on the Table
I keep a small, wooden rolling pin in the back of my kitchen drawer, its surface smoothed by decades of friction and the ghost of flour. It belonged to a woman who believed that the weight of one’s hands could translate into the warmth of…
The Weight of Sweetness
There is a specific, heavy stillness that descends in the late afternoon when the sun begins to retreat behind the clouds, leaving the room in a state of muted, grey-toned suspension. It is the kind of light that demands a slowing of the pulse,…
The Weight of Small Things
It is 3:14 am. The house is holding its breath, and I am staring at the dust motes dancing in the sliver of moonlight that cuts across my floor. We spend our days building monuments to things that do not matter, chasing the heavy, loud milestones…