October 30, 2014

“I walk to the top of the stairs, dotting the entirety of the staircase in a trembling strand of my redness, then retreat to the kitchen where the refrigerator door hangs off its hinges, the refrigerator light on inside, white light beams illuminating the last half-gallon jug of milk in the house. I uncap the gallon and tilt it to my lips. But the bottle misses and pours over the side of my neck and shoulder. The milk wets half my body. I sigh as it pours, as it puddles. It spills along the floor and dribbles towards the living room. The kitchen is thick with milk reek.”

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