There is Nothing in the World Like an Avocado

I catch the 4.15 stiletto elephant slowcoach from Oxford to Destination. The trip is punctuated with incorrect semi-colons. I look up at the clichéd English blue sky with white clouds and wonder how many of the molecules of moisture inside these scattered nimbostratus once belonged to the streaks of tears running down my beautiful mother’s contorted face as she lay on her bed grieving for the baby she had just given away.

A hearse goes by my window.