By Ben Greenman
from forthcoming collection, as yet untitled
Harriet looks in the mirror. She’s in there, which she expects, but everything that’s behind her is not, which surprises her. She knows what’s back there: the frustration, the despair, some of it in deep distance, other houses, other towns, but also closer by, the hook on the wall where her husband’s jacket used to hang, the framed photo on the other wall from the week they met, two smiling faces, the envelope on the table from the hospital, the sealed plastic bag with his phone in it, the notepad on the counter with scribbled information she did not understand when the doctor said it and does not understand now, the look in her son’s eyes that’s a plea for answers about any of it. Harriet keeps looking in the mirror.
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