Christine Taylor
Plainfield, New Jersey, USA

I Don’t Know What Love Looks Like

Sometimes, 7:30 summer mornings are neither sunny nor graced with birdsong. Sometimes they’re foggy, and the echo of bulldozers on the highway barely masks the shouting behind wood, behind drywall, behind glass in the house next door. Sometimes a crow’s caw lances the air. A horn blares as a train rolls into the nearby station. The wall clock ticks. More shouting. And I just wish it would rain.

landscaped garden
the gossamer
ruined