Brok - The Melancholy Of My Mom -washing Machine Was

The washing machine stayed broken. We never fixed it.

Not the one in the nice part of town, with the card readers and the folding tables. The one on the other side of the highway, where the fluorescent lights flickered and a man named Dwight sat in the corner reading last month’s newspaper. The Melancholy of my mom -washing machine was brok

And somehow, my mother learned to live.

Then I sat down across from her.

She nodded once. Then she opened the drawer where we keep the screwdrivers, looked inside, closed it again, and walked back to the kitchen. She served dinner. She asked about my math test. She didn’t mention the machine again. The washing machine stayed broken