Woman in her hometown - Necessary Salt by Joy Sullivan
Nothing hurts like a hometown, especially Dayton, Ohio. Cornfield after cornfield. The notorious HELL IS REAL sign off of Highway 35 that, after all this time, still makes me sweat. I contain multitudes and apparently all of them are anxious.
After nearly three years away, my hometown now feels like a sweater left too long in the dryer. Familiar but unwearable, itchy at the edges.
Beautiful prose that I feel every time I read turned to my two stoplight home town. Different town. Same anxieties and ghosts of my past.