by Emily Rinkema

and the baby is caught on the rim of the bucket and its fat round feet are off the ground and it’s about to tip in headfirst, and if you look closely–which you aren’t–you’ll see the baby is reaching for something in the bottom of the bucket, its pacifier, maybe, or a small plastic spoon, stretching its fat little fingers out towards the liquid, which could be cleaning solution or could be paint or could just be dirty water you left in a bucket in your kitchen even though you knew better.

Emily Rinkema lives and writes in northern Vermont, USA. Her writing has recently appeared in Fictive Dream, Okay Donkey, Ghost Parachute, and Frazzled Lit. You can read her work at emilyrinkema.wixsite.com/my-site or follow her on X, BS, or IG (@emilyrinkema).