recipe raze she says to come by the house when we're finished with our walk. red brick. just a few blocks from where we used to live before avarice and indifference forced us to move a mile away. the family dog is on the porch. shepherd with butcher's blood. she's known me for two years. she smiled at me while my fingers kneaded her fur fifteen minutes ago. she isn't smiling now. she barks louder than a circular saw and charges. the only thing that saves me from being mauled is the instinct to turn and shield my hands and face. my fear reminds her i'm a friend. not a threat. she whines and paws at me like she's trying to apologize. the closest thing she has to a mother now hands me a recipe for ginger cookies written in block letters on stationary pockmarked with pink flowers. she laughs and says, "she's a good alarm clock." my left ear won't be right for the rest of the day. 230318 what's it to you? who go blather from