My sister hands me guest towels, kisses my forehead and then goes up to bed. Her husband and I watch the commercials, listen to her footsteps across the ceiling.
I’ve been away a long time and it’s cold outside. He turns up the TV, just enough, and his hand hovers over my leg. Flannel sleeves. This was always a small town.
Three months ago, in Namibia, I stepped into quicksand. It was nothing like a movie. It was more like gravity had come alive, the heavy embrace of a ghost who knew you.
“Relax,” he says as he pulls me down.
I never had to go anywhere.
Kate Glahn holds a MFA from the University of Michigan.
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