It’s a night in Ohio where a man sleeps alone one week and the next, the woman he will eventually marry leans her body into his for the first time, leans a kind of faith, too—filled with white crickets and bouquets of wild carrot. And the months and the honeyed years after that will make all the light and dark squares feel like tiles for a kitchen they can one day build together.
Aimee Nezhukumatathil, from “Chess” (via oofpoetry)














