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      April 18, 2022Day 274Alexandra Bessette

      Alexandra Bessette

      DAY 274

      Bert is in the kitchen and he is
      sitting on the floor mat so his humongous paws
      don’t slide across the hardwood and he is
      watching me fluff a pot of white rice
      with that animal intensity, unblinking
      as if to say please or
      your leg is the first thing I would eat
      in the apocalypse and I think
      who’s gonna tell him? I ran out
      of dog food this morning and this is the best
      I can do, for now, because the stores
      are packed with people and all my inhalers
      have been empty for a week. He’s watching
      my hand on the fork and his head is bobbing
      faintly with my movements. I wonder
      what it might be like to want a thing
      that much, that simply.

      from #75 - Spring 2022

      Alexandra Bessette

      “When I was in fifth grade, my teacher Mrs. Jarvis set aside six minutes at the beginning of every class for us to write. At the end of our six minutes, we read to each other. On the last day of school I raised my hand and shared the first few paragraphs of a short story. I stopped abruptly and looked up in time to catch the moment before anyone realized I had finished, before their collective intake of breath. I’d like to live in that millisecond forever. That’s why I write. P.S. Bert has been doing great since day 274.”

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