Right now, an octopus is staring at an abandoned snorkel off the coast of Mozambique. Right now, precedented times are waiting in the wings to make a comeback. Right now, the stars can be forgiven for thinking they’re living in a van Gogh painting. Right now, a woman you used to know is crying in an apartment full of bandaged books. Right now, an astronaut is spinning above his own patch of planet blackness. Right now, calumny is on trend. Right now, grapes ripen on a vine that longs to be juicy and playful. Right now, there are conversations agreeing that hereafter they will be enrobed in silence. Right now, someone somewhere is trying to read another without due respect for the story within the story. Right now, the mass manufacture of excuses threatens to flood the market. Right now, ruddiness in a newborn’s cheeks is such sweet relief.

Catherine O’Brien