Avalanche

The news that she’s getting married hasn’t sent me teetering. I wait for it to goose me awake like my alarm, to burst like a gel-cap between my teeth, to seep into my cereal, to blind me like the sun through the slats of my office window, to follow me home like that guy who says he’s doing me a favor, to rasp in the lock with my keys, to season my evening meal kit. How many moments until the wobble turns into the collapse? How many days before all that’s left of me is empty white snow?

Leigh Ann Ruggiero