Water rolls in the pot, steams the window-cut of grey sky.   She smears eyebrow droplets across her forehead and spins a bent fork in the tangle of pasta. She holds it, mango slippery, in her mouth then spits it out. The bite has been boiled away.

1  2   3  4  5  6  7  8  9  10  11  12   13  14  15  16  17  18  19   20