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Kinds

Wrong Side

Wrong Side

The Latch Only Argues in January

A door latch you never think about all summer becomes a negotiation in deep cold. The metal contracted, the frozen tooth, the bare hand you shouldn't use, the palm cupped over the works.

Wrong Side

The Square You Have to Take It Apart to Find

A coat that looks whole from the outside. Turn it inside out and there is a patch, ugly and small, holding the shoulder that gave. The repair nobody sees is the one doing the job.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of the Skillet

The bottom of a cast iron pan keeps everything the top pretends to forget. A close look at the side that takes the heat.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of a Blue Flower

The back of an embroidery hoop keeps a record the front will never admit to. Knots, carried threads, one green wire strung across bare linen. A close look at where the work shows its labour.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of a Fence

A fence repair holds from the side no one looks at. The knot goes behind the post, ugly and turning inward, doing the work out of sight.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side: June 1968

The glass had come loose, so I lifted the frame off the wall and turned it over. The back had more to say than the front.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of the Bread

The part of the loaf that faced the pan — pale, flat, and holding the exact corners of the tin. The side that did the touching and shows it.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of the Quilt

A finished quilt tells the truth from behind: carried threads, a wandering seam, the map of how it was really made.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of the Table

The underside of a table nobody sanded, because nobody looks. Pencil marks, old glue, a name half-written in the dark.

Wrong Side

The Wrong Side of the Woodpile

The neat face of a stacked row is for the yard. What holds it up is bark, offcuts, and one damp slab jammed against the siding.