September 2017 Dear Sylvia I wait for you here with my coffee cup and newspaper, and I watch the sea. The dolphins head up the beach, and in the evening scallop down. The force of their numbers through surf pushes toward the condo village, past the gnashing mongrels gathered on shore. The dogs collect every morning to stalk grackles, whose molting feathers stick out like charred trash or timbers. Even if these grackles were crash sites, only dogs would investigate. Sylvia, I watch the dolphins skimming by undulating, their splendid continuum unbroken, water like silk shedding from their slick gray backs. Sylvia, I am still waiting for you to notice me, turn toward my shining skin. — Cathryn Hankla
The Art & Soul of Greensboro
September 2017
O.Henry 63