Tag: Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue

I Find it Strangely Comforting by Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue

That some patch of dust on that hard-to-get-to shelf yonder could be dead skin cells sloughed off her bent, pain-racked body more than 2 years ago now. Or that some microbial creature still spirals through my twisted, maze-like intestines, a parting gift from her,…