the_corner tender_square we were sent there so often as kids for arguing that i developed a preferred spot. where the fridge and wall met were best; i could study the black, twisting coils pumping refrigerant in the shadows as my own blood cooled. the hanging philodendron reached its vines to my shoulder like a comforting friend. the corner of the kitchen where the table was kept and our beast of a dog maxx liked to lay was so-so. the grass-cloth wallpaper provided rumbly texture to touch, made soft noise like the points of a comb; it was a different sort of meditative five minutes, but it didn’t have the warm hum of the fridge. if we had the kitchen to ourselves as we served our punishment, brea and i would pull our noses out from our respective corners, lock eyes across the way and have full conversations without opening our mouths. sorry was a word we never needed to utter, at least not to each other—we forgave as freely as we loved. 211201 what's it to you? who go blather from