Amy MacLennan
	At a Roadside Stand   At a roadside stand we taste honey again, jasmine this time, and orange. Unfiltered says the man, holding a jar, the amber a cloud in his hand. We are going to the coast, almost out of cash, and I think of how the honey will spread on toast, the way it will flavor our tea, a long unspooling into painted mugs, the shimmerdrip from a spoon. Dust blows across the table, and as I reach toward one sticky lid, home sits quiet in my mouth.