By Ellen Heaney
She cradled her belly, swollen, empty. Between them, silence, and the words that hung there.
He stopped at the doughnut stand and watched as they emerged, sloppy, from the gloopy oil, and hardened to the world. Warm, sweet, innocent. One, he said, will do.
They halved it and stood together, alone, watching the swallows over the sea swarming in synchronicity against a peach sunset, like leaves at the bottom of a teacup.
A gull swooped and stole her half, then his. They felt the threat of a smile – and let it come.
“I write because it brings me joy.” – the writer