Jinin Kiem

Beans

I neglected to buy a decoy can of beans at the supermarket—it’s been a long week, I’m weary—and now seated at the dinner table I’m paying the predictable price. Margaret’s macular-degenerated eyes, shielded behind smudged bifocals, widen and focus and fix on my bowl of beans. Her little mouth pops open, threatening to solicit. Her knobby-knuckled hand rises from her own liberally stocked, albeit beanless, plate and trembles towards my bowl.

My ninety-four-year-old mother-in-law wants. I will not give.

Thank You, Vicki Forman

Everything Was Good

From a Travel Essay by Henry James

February 20, 1962

Disappear