flash nonfiction, popcorn, short essay

50 Pounds of Popcorn: Flash (Non)Fiction

A fifty-pound bag of popcorn squats on my living room floor.  The children sit on it, use it as a bean bag chair.  They squash it and pound its surface.  They lay their heads upon it when they watch TV.

I’m almost afraid to open it.  My husband gave it to me when his heart was full and near to bursting, so like that bag.  But, already, the packaging is pierced.  Kernels are coming out.

What happens when it is empty?

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