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The woman across from us at the restaurant, old and still very beautiful, was in love with my husband. She sat there with salad on her breath, smiling at him while narrowing her eyes at me as our soup arrived. The soup was so hot it burnt my tongue. Many women were in love with my husband, who was faithful to me as a dog. The moon is supposed to be red tonight, he said, dunking bread in his soup to cool it. I hadn’t seen a Blood Moon in years. I remembered how the moon once followed me to the grocery store, how I thought of it as a pal. Why is this fancy woman alone? I wondered. On that particular night, I had nothing to say to him.
Meg Pokrass is the author of seven collections of flash fiction and two novellas in flash. Her work has appeared in three Norton anthologies including Flash Fiction America, New Micro, and Flash Fiction International, and has appeared in Electric Literature, SmokeLong Quarterly, CRAFT, The Best American Poetry, Washington Square Review, and many other places.
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