The Gift Late on Christmas Eve, in the river, in the moonlight you caught a fine fat trout, brown, with rosy freckles. I watched as you thwacked it. Thwacked and thwacked against a low stone wall until it was fully dead. Next morning was still Christmas. We found a fireplace where you wrapped the trout in a parcel of tinselly foil and cooked it with tender care. You eased a blade along the spine and fed me soft pink flesh which I ate, slowly, thinking of the night before. Family Day Care Look at…
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