May 27/365 A Chowder Tale in 3 Parts, 3

In time, we forget pain.

Duncan orders the seafood chowder, and I beg a taste. We’re talking, laughing, and I don’t cool the spoon with my breath. Instead the hot chowder hits my tongue full steam, and I scrabble for the water glass. Through tears, I shake my head: chowder holds fire at its core.