Femspec, December 1st, 2001
She stared at the cracks in the ceiling, white cracks in white plaster that waved, fluctuated, grew into other cracks, other images. A sharp line and then one that rounded perpendicular to the first: her mother's neck and shoulders. She remembered the house in Bridgeport, sitting at the kitchen table, eating saltines spread with red jelly, watching her mother's back and shoulders, the sharpened anger in the lines of muscle as she bent over the ironing board pressing her husband's blue cotton work shirts. The point of the iron digging over and over into the name embroidered in raised red chain ...
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