Husband in the Ear
You ask your husband, “What is going on in here?” You plunge your ear with your pinky and see your blood. A pinky nail full. You lick it clean and re-test. The next nail full. The next strong taste. You ask your husband, “What is going on in here?” You roll over in bed so he can see inside your ear. You explain, “My ear,” and face it to the sun he’ll use. This cranes your neck but you hold it. “It doesn’t hurt?” your husband asks. You slap his hand away. In the quiet, you listen inside your head. For legs scratching, for a wingguard squeaking through the tight fit. For home-making. You had spotted her, shameless on the bath tile. She froze when you came in, before you lost her.
Chad Miller’s fiction has appeared as a contest winner in Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art, as well as in Wigleaf and elimae. He lives and works as a visual artist in Austin, Texas. More information at chadrobertmiller.com.
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Image: Chad Miller