Closed Roads
Jamie Iredell


“Roads will be closed today,” Ted said. Out the kitchen window the snow-cover went deep as the log piles, and flakes still drifted down from the gray sky.

Angela read from a two-day-old The Wall Street Journal. She didn’t look up when Ted spoke, but nodded, the corner of her mouth turned up in a kind of half-smile. The toast on her plate, burnt and unbuttered, had gone cold now that she hadn’t touched it. The idea of food in front of her filled her more than ingesting it could.

Ted salted his soft poached eggs. He liked them cooked in this way, so that the yolk ran when he cut them.

Angela turned a page in the newspaper. She ruffled the pages noisily, animatedly, like some annoyed vaudevillian. Ted was the kind of guy who cried when his cat died, a mangy tabby that had been too sick to groom itself.

The driveway was covered in snow. The Toyota, too. Ted would slip into his parka and retrieve snow-dusted logs for the fire all day long. All day long he’d work to keep the house warm.

Fine, Ted thought, chewing and watching the snow fall. His poached eggs were just fine.



Jamie Iredell’s poetry, fiction and nonfiction have appeared in magazines such as The Literary Review, Copper Nickel and The Rumpus. He is the author of the books Prose. Poems. a Novel. and The Book of Freaks. A collection of his essays is forthcoming in 2013.