"iPod"

Inside your brain lives a tumor that is crushing half of the butterfly nestled in your white matter. The doctor was telling you this as I located your son in the waiting area. He sat there alone, back hunched over with arms resting on his knees. Familiar white strings dangled from his ears, and I saw the iPod cradled in his hands, toes tapping to a beat only he could hear. He tugged the strings from his ears as he saw me come near him, questions written across his innocent forehead about the condition of his dad. He followed me to the darkened room, and all I could bring myself to think about is the last song he listened to before he found out his father would soon die. Aleathia Drehmer 2007 Published by Hecale 7/07