PHOTO PROMPT © Kelvin M. Knight
Last week when Mama was here this wouldn’t have happened: No milk. One slice of bread. Bananas so black they melt into the counter.
Da stares at his cellphone.
I want to mention the groceries, Louise’s un-slept-in bed, Arly wearing the same clothes for days, but Da’s face is a forbidding maelstrom.
I drop the holey bread into the toaster and pour a cup of see-through coffee. “When’s Mama coming back?” She does this: becomes infatuated, leaves, then nonchalantly reappears.
His cell chimes. He glances at the text and visibly relaxes. Evidently good news.
His thin lips curve upward.