They stand at the dog park, exchanging dating website data about their dogs but not eye contact.

“Mine is eight, Heinz57.”

“Two, some sheepdog, possibly lab.”

Their bodies shift imperceptibly towards each other; relieved glances are exchanged.

Neither says “rescue,” with its long braggers-rights backstory. Volumes spoken with this omission.

JKForward loves flash fiction’s similarity to poetry and enjoys both reading and writing it. She is currently also editing her mother’s lifetime of letters, each a brief glimpse into the past, and weaving them into a portrait memoir.