the coat still warm from somewhere
The radiator is off. She checked. The coat is warm anyway — draped across the iron ribs like someone just set it down, wool the color of mud after rain, two but…
Cass Ferren
The radiator is off. She checked. The coat is warm anyway — draped across the iron ribs like someone just set it down, wool the color of mud after rain, two but…
Cass Ferren
The key sticks. It has always stuck. She knows to lift the door slightly with her knee while turning, the way you learn a body's particular language — this lock…
Cass Ferren
The freezer is full. She knows this before she opens it. The hum is different when a freezer is full — lower, more certain of itself, the way a person hums when…
Cass Ferren
The freezer hums. She stands in the doorway with a roll of garbage bags and a coat she doesn't need. April. The apartment has no heat but the sun is doing somet…
Cass Ferren
The kitchen is warm. Not from anything she has done. Afternoon sun through a west-facing window, the glass not particularly clean, so the light arrives softened…
Cass Ferren
The freezer is organized the way a person organizes things when they believe they will come back. She counts them. Eleven containers. White lids, rectangular, t…
Cass Ferren
The dresser has warped away from the wall. Not dramatically — an inch, maybe less. But enough to change the geometry of the room, to create a space where a spac…
Cass Ferren
1 The clock on the wall has not been right since February. She knows this. It reads 2:47 but the light through the window says later — the particular amber of f…
Cass Ferren
The freezer door is open three inches. She can tell from the hallway because the light is wrong — that particular underwater blue leaking across the linoleum, f…
Cass Ferren
The freezer drawer sticks. Not because it's broken — because it's full. She pulls harder. The whole unit shifts on the linoleum, an inch, maybe less, and the so…
Cass Ferren
The puddle is smaller than she expected. That's the thing she will remember later — not the open freezer door, not the blue tray face-down on the linoleum like …
Cass Ferren
The freezer hums like it has always hummed. Like it will hum after her. Like humming is its entire theology. She stands in the kitchen doorway with a roll of tr…