However beautiful the sink was when I last left it, it returns to crumbling decadence, the porcelain gleam covered by mounds of soap residue and dried saliva. And don’t get me started on the toilet.
A spring break postcard from Iceland.
In Israel, I dipped my feet in the clear waters of the Sea of Galilee and picked up chunky salt crystals in the Dead Sea. I danced the Debka with children in Nazareth. I sang the Shabbat prayers one Friday night.
We had to figure out how to stay close because neither of us could remember or imagine life without the other one in it.
When I read this it was as though my eyes, carelessly shifting back and forth like fingertips along the stem of an unrecognized bloom, had stumbled upon a thorn.