*Featured image courtesy of Ben Hershey on Unsplash* Everyone handles grief differently, and Ronan manages to capture this excellently in this short story. Enjoy, and happy Independence Day for those of you who celebrate! He’s sitting at the top of the steps leading down from the decking to the lawn, facing away from us. His head is bowed, showing the bald spot on his crown, ever-expanding, immutable, and I ask mum if he should be putting sun cream on it if he’s going to be sitting out there for so long. She pauses in her plate drying, gripping it so tight that I’m worried she might shatter it, before sighing and setting it on the workbench with a disregard that would have earned my seven-year-old self a stern reprimand. She closes her eyes for a…
“I Hear Yes,” Poetry by Vera West
i hear “yes” I jokingly have asked my husband: “Do you feel like I’m a gallon of milk you got home only to find out it’s expired?” He knows I’m referring to how I used to be pretty but now feel curdled. He laughs—not a real laugh but a confused nervous one I’ve forced out of him by knowing he loves me and asking him a ridiculous question like that anyway. You might focus on the fact that he did in fact laugh—coerced or not—but what you should really be focusing on is how only a sad insecure person hiding behind pain in humor would make that joke in the first place. It says so much and for the record, he always answers no but I always hear yes. ** affect and effect No one…