Highway Kind

I called him Ant-nee. He wore a snake of plastic vein within his arm to save his kidney. He and I, we sculpted plants. He had a way with succulents; did the driving to the homes needing beauty. On the way he’d stop for men along the medium, give them dollars, search their eyes. I asked him why for every one. I joked and said his karma was clear by now. He turned the radio up, gunned the engine, said, Who knows which one might be my Pop? One day, he said. One day I’ll see mine eyes in his.

Kate Hill Cantrill’s writing has appeared in literary publications such as StoryQuarterly, Quick Fiction, Mississippi Review, Diagram, Blackbird, Wigleaf, and others. She has been awarded fellowships from the James A. Michener Fund, the Corporation of Yaddo, the Jentel Artist Residency, and VCCA. She is presently living in Brooklyn and working on a novel as well as a collection of short stories.

2 Responses to “Highway Kind”

  1. Kate says:

    Thanks, Linda!!

  2. LindaS-W says:

    So much of a life packed in this wee but wonderful story. Peace…

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