Pareidolia by Kelly Pedro

Pareidolia by Kelly Pedro

My mother sees my father’s face everywhere. Last week it was in our neighbour’s wilting asters. Then, an angry version in a banana she decided to save. “Maybe it’ll brown into the Virgin Mary, and we can sell it on eBay like that ten-year-old cheese sandwich,” I said. A week later it was still on the counter, a swarm of fruit flies clouding the kitchen. I mixed apple cider and dish soap into a jar, stretched plastic wrap over top and poked holes…