The way a tree that grew around power lines would produce seeds that would sprout other trees with mangled shapes, the way pain and tragedy flowed through the branches of my father’s family tree, the cook was trying to insinuate himself into life, braid himself into a person, so when that person died the cook would continue in the seed, in the thing that passed on to the next place after a person died, because the cook was tired, so tired of being caught in the flux between worlds.
