Russian Diamonds
by Jill Hoffman
What I liked about Kazimir was that he hid nothing. Even lying on the bed, when he picked his nose, it was beautiful. His nostrils were large, and not distorted by his finger going in. When I sometimes entered our room and accidentally caught him in the act, he was never startled, never stopped. Instead, he tried to wipe his boogers on my hair.
“Don’t,” I screamed. “I just washed it. ”
“These are Russian diamonds,” he said, menacing my bare arm with his finger.
Jill Hoffman has authored several books of poetry and fiction. She is the editor of Mudfish.