Six cast iron benches sit against the church’s eastern wall, turned gray from years of mornings. The iron scrollwork in their backs makes a pattern of hearts, all empty.
Jul 242011
Jul 232011
My heart asks a silent question that I don’t hear. Rickie Lee Jones begins singing on the radio as the smoky breath of cafe americano fills my mouth. A young bird follows an arc of morning sunlight from a low branch to the supernaturally green grass below.