by Jennifer Fliss
In the suburbs, in a newly renovated rambler, in a granite-countered kitchen, in a stainless steel refrigerator lived a young woman. She couldn't recall how she came to live in the fridge and she couldn't recall any life that was not in it. She woke up one day lying on a stick of butter; it had grown soft where her body rested, female indentations of hips and waist. The woman's feet came almost to the end of the stick of butter. She was seven tablespoons of person.