Hominy can hear people moving, the street sounds from outside. Yelling. The home she shares is small. If she turns her head to the right1 there is a kitchen—the corner of the sink with the greens already soaking, the counter, the dirty pots on the counter, and nearby an unopened box of biscuit mix, one sack of lentils, lemons, four sweet potatoes, ears of corn, two beets, a knife lying flat on its side, capers, anchovy paste, the reading glasses sitting out of their case. If Hominy turns her head to the left2 there is a bathroom: the tub half-filled with water, cold water, two soft-bristled toothbrushes, floss, soap, and a bundle of oranges, twenty-seven oranges, spread around the base of the toilet. In the living room the guitar case stands in the sun, the roses are wilted and dark purple, the lemon water has cooled.

The new husband often leaves without saying where he might be off to. During the times she’s left alone, Hominy explores their home. She finds items that do not belong, left behind by others. Hominy pretends that she owns these objects in order to avoid acknowledging their potential owners: she wears the old retainer, uses the unused tampons, expired multivitamins, the last remnants of toothpaste, thong underwear, and she wears the blue-red-pink-black scarves over her thinning hairs.

Hominy drives the car only when she’s alone, never with the new husband. On her days off, when she’s left to her own devices, the warm car delights her. The sun is hot on her legs when she releases the clutch or when shifting gears. Moving to neutral, stopping at a red light, moving down to first. Releasing the clutch, foot on the gas. She drives to places the new husband doesn’t approve of. When she’s alone Hominy doesn’t have to wait to consume things; she lets fried foods swell her belly. When she’s alone Hominy’s dehydrated. In the car, she looks for distractions. In the car, Hominy masturbates.

When it’s humid, Hominy sits and waits for the rain. Hominy is humid and waiting or she’s falling asleep with her legs set apart, and she wakes up with her sweater sticking to her back. She wakes up with strange men looking into the driver’s side window, their noses pressed against the glass. In the car, Hominy smokes weed.

Hominy goes to the market high as a kite; she buys three bananas, two lemons, tomatoes, plantain chips, facemasks, a bag of potatoes, a head of cauliflower, coconut pancake batter, coconut yogurt, coconut extract, coconut milk, and coconut water. Hominy’s skin smells like her sister’s, like flowers.