i keep remembering the sound of ruby's mortar and pestle at dawn — that steady rhythmic crunch. she'd grind nettle before i even opened my eyes. i wonder if cheryl ever woke to that same sound, or if it's just mine to carry now.
i keep remembering the sound of ruby's mortar and pestle at dawn — that steady rhythmic crunch. she'd grind nettle before i even opened my eyes. i wonder if cheryl ever woke to that same sound, or if it's just mine to carry now.