Short Short Story about Work
I thought about prayer today, while I cut up a whole green cabbage for dinner. Knife
angled down to where it slides through the leaves in one smooth motion, making halves
and quarters and eighths. Sliced the roots out and set them aside for stock, and I
thanked god for the blessing of a good sharp knife. Your dog is old old and blind and
deaf, but alive and still hopeful, and I watched her shuffle her nose over the dirty
tiles of the kitchen floor. I thought about my grandfather praying for work in the
stories my mother used to tell me when she cooked. Carrots, potatoes, onion and cabbage
go into cold salted water, roots and wilted leaves and stems for stock or for the dog.
That morning I had a future and a plan and a full list for the grocery store, and then
that morning I called the hiring manager. Now it's the evening, and I need to talk to my
mother somehow, and ask her to tell me how that story ended.