He’d finished, best he could. Bucket of stucco
and caulk gun resting near the paint tray.
He had to repaint the whole damn room
twice and the new paint still showed shiny
bruises over the patched holes. Too many
quick fixes just made the old wall look bad.
He cracks the last beer from the fridge,
blurs his vision to see any spots he’s missed.
She’s two days early through the door,
crinkles her nose at the chemical smell
of repair. “I’ve quit rehab,” she announces,
grabs the beer from his hand, throws
back her head and swallows. His hand
hovers over the small of her back.
“I have got to get out of these clothes.
Coming?”
As both a research biologist and creative writer, Breeann Kyte is firmly grounded in both science and literature. She works in both fields, facilitating collaborations between scientists and writers as well as with other artists. Breeann often turns to poetry for fresh
ways of looking at language and images which she brings to her scientific and creative work.