Ana María Carbonell
Ledger & Vermouth
–They say after everything is gone cockroaches remain.
The clicking of ice cubes in the back office told them she was home (maybe
she’d been there for hours). She’d pour a vermouth (or two) and in her
8” by 14” hardcover ledger neatly log deposits & expenses that had to
add up (she had five children). Even when she couldn’t sleep, she’d rise
at six to teach seven classes. Then go to a second job, discuss loans with bankers
who’d say, Go home and ask your husband. Tell him to call us (never mind
he was dead). At home the children would watch them scatter when they opened
cabinet doors. Occasionally a dead one or two lay splayed in flour or sugar
on the bottom shelf. They’d pick them out to bake their chocolate chip cookies
or chewy butterscotch brownies. She may not have gone grocery shopping
that day and certainly hadn’t cooked, but there was always some food,
and though some had cockroaches, what was in the freezer was good. Today,
she told herself, today, I’ll call the pesticide company.
Ana María Carbonell writes and teaches in the Bay Area. Her work has appeared in Saranac Review, Stoneboat Literary Journal, Rust & Moth, and elsewhere. She was also a finalist in the Tucson Festival of Books’ literary contest. She lives in Berkeley with her musician husband and ever-wily rescue pup.