This Place of Wonder

by Barbara O'Neal

That’s the thing about grief. It spirals up and up and up, revisiting us again and again, reaching out with electrified tentacles to sting us when we least expect it.

Augustus would have ordered the pulpo, octopus, but I can’t bring myself to eat something that’s smart enough to free itself from an aquarium, which I saw in a video somewhere.

we fit like Russian dolls. His head tilts and mine tilts the other way and we dive into kissing like it will end climate change.