I longed for spring, and it came, not sun and crocuses but frigid rains, drifts drowned away in a day, and undying winds. Restless, Spring moved to my living room. What to do with Grandmother’s once prized rug, these sodden cushions? Vines laced through our new blinds. Returned birds screeched in waterlogged misery. The raccoons, at least, used the bathroom. Coyote pups frolicked in my kitchen, feasted on the tiny newborn, the bald newly hatched, every room loud with life, life, life.
Michelle Morouse is a Detroit area pediatrician. Her flash fiction and poetry has appeared recently, or is forthcoming, in Burningwood Literary Journal, Midwest Review, Rush, Kestrel, Prose Online, Best Microfiction 2022, Touchstone Literary Magazine, Faultline Journal of Arts and Letters, Litro, and Unbroken. She serves on the board of Detroit Working Writers. Follow: @MichelleMorouse