The man across from me made art out of solder. His hands never touched the table, sticky with spills, before the seisiún. And your outrage and your pride. It was about those, too. When we put the dog down. When we euthanized the dog. When we killed the dog. The second after he stopped breathing. The second he stopped breathing. I said, “I want him back. Bring him back to me. My friend. My friend.” All of my ugliness and my shame. That does not exist here.
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myfanwy collins 
this is chilling. great micro.
Thank you, Susan!