like all the better wives

a new green sweatshirt.

everything is wet here. the trees are slick and black and silver. i opened the door (to go out and push the mail the rest of the way down into the mail slot so that i could go back inside and pull it out of the hole in the wall behind the door, ripping rips into the covers of periodicals and supermarket fliers) and was accosted by a strong spring scented wind that took me by surprise and caused me to stand in the doorway in barefeet, orange pants and large smile. winter will be over soon, these days, these winds, seem to scream of it.

i made an enormous chocolate cake for ben's birthday. the thing was beautiful in the beginning -- tall and fine and shiny and black. and then the frosting was running and oozed down the sides in a puddle on my mother's green cake plate. i put the mess in the fridge overnight and tried to forget about the picture in the cookbook. i should stick to cheesecake. everyone ate fat slices of the cake with ice cream. even grandma scarfed it down while declaring her ever-present declaration "i'm not a chocolate lover." henry blew out the eighteen candles along with ben. henry's excitement was contagious. i remember when ben was henry's size, it was frighteningly recent. the time cannot go this quickly for henry. i am sick at the thought.

more photos by henry.