Kipilefti

When I finish the Annie Proulx book (Close Range) it starts to rain. I dislodge the kittens from my lap, go through the kitchen, put out the basins to catch water. Grand plans to wash a blanket, if there’s enough water. I walk over to the shelf in my living room, pick out another Annie Proulx book (Postcards), walk back to my room. Forgiving, the kittens climb back onto my lap as soon as I pull the blankets over it, contented to be napping together on a rainy afternoon.

This morning at the market I bought mushrooms, avocadoes, tomatoes, onions, strange potato-like roots like the fingers of some evil tree in a movie. After I wash them I break them into pieces. They break satisfyingly, with sharp cracks, like a tree’s fingers would. I put them on to boil, put the rest of my purchases into the shallow basket where produce goes. They join two types of bananas, a few inches of ginger, garlic.