Bombshell Incarnation At a halfway ordinary looking space
station diner, Poinsette applies concealer and then foundation to
cover up some zits. Within a couple of minutes, two
other women arrive. One is just out of the joint. Her niece asks point blank, “Does
having anal sex with that kid mean I’m still a virgin?” They have different
loyalties, faiths, colors, breaking points, plans.
Being the last immortal to live among humans, Poinsette
discovers beautiful things everywhere––baby icicles, cicada shells,
self-portrait in falling leaves, door between two pines. In a field of pink
dandelions, she hears the letters of a word form in her head––Reparations––a subject so incendiary it
risks being accused of politics rather than respected as the highest art. When
she gets up to leave, it’s with the unshakeable knowledge that everything
happens because not deadening with hesitation or mediocrity is the only way to
love. [Published
in The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter:
Expanded Edition. ©
2016 by Jim Cohn.] |
APPEARS IN The Ongoing Saga I Told My Daughter: Expanded Edition |