Curtains

by Mikki Aronoff

“Place could use a touch of feminizing,” she offers, arm sweeping a too-wide arc. Hasn’t my aunt just heard me say how proud I am of my studio apartment, my very first, how long I saved to rent it? She dashes outside despite the drizzle, doubles back with a fistful of stale butts, Kools, from the overflowing ashtray in her old Buick. “Won’t take a minute, find me some tape,” she delegates as she rips apart the filters, fluffs the golden nicotine-tinged fibers and attaches them to the hem of the cracked plastic curtains that hang over my kitchen sink. My guts bubble as she steps back, surveys the effect and turns to me beaming like a beacon. That night, I remove the Crown of Thorns from the windowsill, stick a votive in its place, light a match, leave for work.

6S

Mikki Aronoff, a writer based in New Mexico, has work published in Flash Boulevard, New World Writing, MacQueen’s Quinterly, ThimbleLit, The Phare, The Ekphrastic Review, The Fortnightly Review, Feral, and elsewhere. Her stories and poems have received Pushcart and Best Microfiction nominations.