It was snowing when I dialed, raining when I hung up, chaos even for me who mixes the chaff back into the wheat and salts the on-ramps and rakes up needles only to scatter them on the ground and walk through as if to cut a covenant, or sew one together. At dawn, with all the inertia of imagination, I laced my boots and cradled the laundry. Is it even worth it to clean these clothes? No matter. When the washer door clicked shut I knew that ours is not the slipped disk in the spine of a novel, it’s just the end and so we wring it out, make it lie flat.
— Lauren Dominguez Chan is a junior in Grace Hopper College.