*Shortlisted for Gooseberry Pie’s 2nd Annual Writing Contest
by Mikki Aronoff
This week’s letter says you changed your mind, the locks, your address, ran away with the dentist who probed with tweezer and tongue the wide reception of your mouth, upped and left the decay of this town. Yet I spot the slip and slide of you through the lace curtains on your bedroom window, see you simper and sulk as you finger our dear departed Ma’s bangles and beads in your jewelry box, the loss of her still so heavy on your heart, despite all those years gone. Open this door! I’m getting colder and older by the second— me, your ancient, baby sister, shifting from gnarly foot to foot on your rickety porch, hoisting muscle, broom, bucket and rags, ready to slop and talk. Like every other blessed week, I’ll scour the dinge of your cupboards, dust down the grit in your parlor, straighten the stacks of Rin-Tin-Tin comics and tattered Dog World magazines fanning out on the floor, fold your compression stockings, count out your pills, sweep dust bunnies out from under your sofa, pin Ma’s brooch on your bosom, rouge your chalky cheeks. We’ll go get ourselves a soda, stroll ’round the park, unbraid the twists of your roguish loves, pet us some furry little pups.
Mikki Aronoff lives in New Mexico, where she writes tiny stories and advocates for animals. She has stories in Best Microfiction 2024 and in Best Small Fictions 2024 and upcoming in Best Small Fictions 2025.
