The Altar I Didn’t Know I was Building by Elle Zaspel
The Altar I Didn’t Know I was Building Elle Zaspel There’s a small bowl on the bookshelf,not meant for anything in particular.But in it: a cicada shell, a rock from a Hamptons beach,a blurry photo propped up beside them.Things I kept without knowing why.Things I wasn’t ready to throw away.Cicadas remind me of him—loud among friends, a little bit silly,as if joy itself made them tremble.They seem forgetful,unsure of when to rise from the earth,but their confusion is only appearance.They know exactly when.He was like that too.His keys are lost,his books—vanished into someone else’s box.Mine are…
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