Blueberry Jam Kisses
I submitted this piece to the last Literary Taxidermy competition. The opening and closing lines were given by the competition hosts, originally taken from "Je Ne Parle Pas Français" by Katherine Mansfield. Blueberry Jam Kisses I do not know why I have such a fancy for this little café. The coffee is swill, and the décor blinds you with its blandness: bright lights, blank walls, bleached floors, and a blundering, loopy pattern on the tablecloths that demands your eyes doodle along the scoops and swirls until it hurts. But the muffins are crispy on top and popping with fresh blueberries, just like the ones Mama used to make after we went picking in the back woods in those carefree childhood summers that had no foreknowledge of aching backs bent over shuffling feet, or cold crooked fingers wrapped around coffee mugs. The mugs too are as grey as the walls – the coffee itself seems to have greyed. But the muffins taste like home. Behind the counter smiles a girl with a midnight-b...