Squeezing an avocado, our neighbor Meredith comments, “You have your father’s eyes.”
My eyes dart to the potatoes, scanning for sprouting buds — potential witnesses. “You think?”
“Sorry to hear he disappeared on you and your mom.”
I nod, shifting my basket’s weight. My smile remains while I pay, my heartbeat calms on the drive home.
To coat my dry throat, I drink from the kitchen tap. After rinsing the vegetables, my bedroom door knob temporarily resists under my moist palm. I remove the shoeboxes from the closet to reveal my father’s eyes, preserved in a thrift store mason jar.
Kim kjagain Moes of Nanaimo, BC, lived in an RV and traveled extensively around North America for several years, but after selling her Majestic home on wheels last year, she is living part-time here and there while maintaining a primary residence in Canada. Her work can be found online and in print, in English and Spanish. On writing, she says, “Write the life we live, explore the lessons not yet learned, and then, eat catharsis for dinner.” Twitter: @kjagain.
The Centifictionist 
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