Solace in Solstice Solace in Solstice Solace in Solstice
Solace in Solstice
Stephanie Stowers
Bored pine cones waited for the day the goldenrods bloom, when they’d be fed by water bottles with punched holes in their caps from the lady on the 5th floor with many cats and a son with golden-hued eyes.
Her fingers will be covered in dirt, her cuticles hardly ignoring its company. It would be hard to resist the smell of lunch seeping from her window: turkey chili on the stove that always got stuck between a canine and a molar tooth.
Her eager son would run through the living room, holding on to a toy purple rocket ship ready to take off into space - or rather their sheetrock white ceiling.