Every part of her is shaped
like sausage
she is the sturdy kind of big
reliable hands
good skin
doggedly cheerful
I buy my pasta from her
once a week
she always offers my son a cookie
the kind that never go stale
like beige chunks of coal
in a plastic bin
she takes my order with one eye on the tv
perched above a wall of cans
a talk show fills the store
with confessions
we watch it together for a moment
a mild-mannered kleptomaniac
his indignant wife
it’s clear
we agree
she’s to blame
as I turn to leave
an old woman enters
bent over her cane
her hair thin and white like dandelion seeds
the woman behind the counter smiles at her
like she does to everyone
ciao bella
she says it extra loud
so the old woman will hear her
the part about being beautiful
and I am reminded
how the delicacy of kindness
lurks in the most wondrous of places.
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