Someone You Can Build a Nest In

by John Wiswell

There was no easy way to ask if Homily wanted her to eat her mother.

Like smothering a victim, comforting was easier to do with a good grip.

They were a wordless, unspeaking lump of good intentions. Together they became a comfort she never wanted to leave.

Homily sat on the other side of the circular dining table from her, since apparently it was romantic to be inconveniently distanced from the person you loved.