by Audrey Walls
Did I say disaster? I meant orchid. In Florida, they have lizards the length of your arm. That doesn’t mean we have to move tomorrow. We could dig a hole in the backyard and bury ourselves. It would do as much good. I said rancor. The neighbors don’t blink anymore, they just stare as our windows fog up in the rain. Our single-paned horrors. We can’t stay. You said listen. But the crickets aren’t calling us home. Their song is retreat retreat retreat.