Sometimes you peel an orange in a careful curl and wrap the peel around your wrist. You draw a clock face on the peel with marker. Starting now it’s noon forever.

Sometimes the door opens and Plot rushes in, scarf around her neck, matte red lipstick. Sometimes she’s running away, sometimes chasing. When her scarf slips off, you pick it up.

And every impulse tells you to wind the story around her neck and pull it tight enough to tie a bow.

Read it in Tupelo Quarterly