Yet Another Beginning by KC Kirkley

Chicago Literati

When the poet arrived, I did believe that a great and true beginning came with her. Certainly, it had to be so. I opened the door and there she stood, with a cluster of hazy jellyfish clouds floating in the jewel-bright sky behind her.

This is the beginning of the story, I thought. It could be published in some serious-minded magazine with monochrome photos of rusted bicycles.

“It’s really you,” I said.

She shrugged.

“The very woman who penned the Tendril Sonnets,” I said.

“It seems unlikely, I know. Even to me,” she said.

We said these things over the barking of a neighborhood dog. A truck was backing up somewhere, signaling its movement with a persistent, rhythmic alarm. Such apt atmospherics.

But all the background was foreground too because of this: the poet had a hideous face, a cherry-pigmented discoloration curved across her concave cheeks and half…

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