Giselle Decides to Stop Thinking

That’s because of Martin, who she can’t forget. The smell of him soaked in her clothes, onions from the burgers they ate and fruity from all the wine. Can’t stop thinking how he flirted with the waitress, said she belongs in a painting, and he’d become a painter just for that. Giselle tries to hold her thoughts the way she can hold her breath. Hold still and still. But her thoughts have thoughts of their own. 30 seconds and splat. Thoughts of Martin out of her head and the exact shade of Martin painting her walls.

One Day She Can’t Understand Eggs Anymore

Couldn’t tell you in a million, billion what they’re for. Can’t remember all the frying and the poaching, the painted Easter faces, all the smashing on the sidewalk by the neighbor boys on Halloween, all the cracky bits floating in the birthday cake batter, all the cartons she could have turned into hairpin holders, all the Humptys and the Dumptys, all the diner times with breakfast men she never saw again, all the monthly eggs she cried about, gone in a stream of red. How she put her eggs in a single basket because she believed her husband would be there always and what a pile of broken shells that turned out to be.