Buried Placenta | Alexander Cavaluzzo

“What’s your name?” I was intrigued.

“Dakota Many Colors.”

I smiled at the ridiculousness of the name but felt a pang of admiration for his situation. He stood, not wanting to talk any more. Behind him, through the doorway, I saw Ryan and Margot chatting, his arms dancing in some grand choreography around her. I was still smiling, that kind of smile where the corners of your lips curl toward each ear despite yourself, and only a hint of your top teeth show. Sebastian was standing, awkwardly looking at his feet as they shifted his weight back and forth. I tilted my chin up to kiss him.

The party may have been stillborn, but at least something started living on top of all that buried placenta.