Under The Table

by...Lea Anne Stoughton


The child lays under the table that was made big for the day. Knees all around. Teddy has a bow on his head, silly thing. Dress for Special was itchy, and Mommy let her change into the fuzzy feety jammies. Sleepy and warm and still tasting the pie. The grown-up talk washes around her.

“…spread to the liver…”

“…foreclosure, but the bank…”

“…fight that bitch for custody…”

“…her own brother in law…”

“…only two ounces but the judge…”

“…fell down the stairs, my ass…”

“…I told that fairy he better not…”

The child breathes in the smell of cigarettes and coffee, and loves her family.