Through the Back Window

 Through the Back Window by Katrina Carmichael Only the first of September, yet there in the dumpster behind our new home, a maple leaf, brown and cracked, like a man who had lain too long in the sun. The leaf leapt from the tenth story of the tree, without looking down to spot the dumpster’s open arms waiting. We saw it tremble, then jump, its veins plump and wet. Now stiff, stuck on last week’s celery stalk, dead and blood warm. Continue reading Through the Back Window