Friday, October 24, 2008

Apples and Cinquains

Sitting next to him in the cusp of what would have been sixteen years of life spent in each other’s company, I heave a breath that cuts the room. Our backs hunch over sitting in tiny blue chairs built for small people as we listen to our progenies academic achievements. The teacher looks through the painful silence between us and I find myself counting the puffs of oxygen coming from the tank neatly strapped to her back to distract me from the truth of it all. At the end, we stare at the pile of drawings and stories, the culmination of our combined seeds, trying to decide what fragments of her we cannot bear to part with. As I walk to my car alone, I look sideways and see him there in his seat, sun hitting the windshield and his face is twisted as if crying. Part of me wants to knock on the window and simply say, “I’m sorry.” But I know that would somehow never be enough, so I keep walking with the sound of gravel under my feet.
Aleathia Drehmer 2008
Published by Words Dance 10/08 (Issue 12)

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