Buttons — Carol Greene

She lay on her stomach sorting through her buttons. The sun coming through her little window lost itself in her dark hair. The empty coffee can she used for her buttons sat next to her elbow. She took off her glasses and rested her chin on her fist as she spread the pile out to one button deep. She felt the smoothness under her palm, like cool water. When they were all spread out and right side up, she saw the one that would match the others on her fathers workshirt. Finding just the right button usually made her feel better, but it had been a bad day. So much to keep inside. So full. All her soda bottles were broken. By the time her Mom had gotten home from work, she was ready for her little room and sewing buttons.